She  felt  his  hand,  firm  and  confident  on  her  shoulder 

Facing  page  52 


MANSLAUGHTER 


BY 

ALICE  DUER  MILLER 

f  • 


AUTHOR  OF, 
COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

F.  R.  GRUGER 

AND  WITH 

SCENES  FROM  THE  PHOTOPLAY 
A  PARAMOUNT  PICTURE 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


t 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 

ALICE  DUER  MILI.EB 


First  Printing,  Oct.,  1921 
Second  Printing,  Oct.,  1921 
Third  Printing,  Nov.,  1921 
Fourth  Printing,  Nov.,  1921 
Fifth  Printing,  Dec.,  19*1 
Sixth  Printing,  Jan.,  igsz 
Seventh  Printing,  Feb.,  1922 


Printed  m  V.  &  3* 


iMANSEAUGHTEK 


MANSLAUGHTER 

CHAPTER  I 

WHENEVER  she  and  Lydia  had  a  scene  Miss 
Bennett  thought  of  the  first  scene  she  had 
witnessed  in  the  Thorne  household.  She  saw 
before  her  a  vermillion  carpet  on  a  mottled  marble 
stair  between  high,  polished-marble  walls.  There  was 
gilt  in  the  railing,  and  tall  lanky  palms  stood  about  in 
majolica  pots.  Up  this  stairway  an  angry  man  was 
carrying  an  angrier  child.  Miss  Bennett  could  see 
that  broad  back  in  its  heavy  blue  overcoat,  and  his 
neck,  above  which  the  hair  was  still  black,  crimsoning 
with  fury  and  exertion.  On  one  side  of  him  she  could 
see  the  thin  arms  and  clutching  hands  of  the  little 
girl,  and  on  the  other  the  slender  kicking  legs,  express* 
ing  passionate  rebellion  in  every  spasmodic  motion. 
The  clutching  hands  caught  the  tip  of  a  palm  in  pass 
ing,  and  the  china  pot  went  rolling  down  the  stairs 
and  crashed  to  bits,  startling  the  two  immense  great 
Dane  puppies  which  had  been  the  occasion  of  the 
whole  trouble. 

The  two  figures,  swaying  and  struggling,  went  on 
Up ;  for  though  the  man  was  strong,  a  writhing  child 

1 


2  [MANSLAUGHTER 

of  ten  is  no  light  burden ;  and  the  stairs,  for  all  their 
grandeur,  were  steep,  and  the  carpet  so  thick  that  the 
foot  sank  into  it  as  into  new-fallen  snow.  Just  as 
they  passed  out  of  sight  Miss  Bennett  saw  the  hands 
of  the  child,  now  clenched  fists,  begin  to  beat  on  the 
man's  arms,  and  she  heard  the  clear,  defiant  young 
voice  repeating,  "I  will  keep  them!  I  will!"  The 
man's  "You  won't"  was  not  spoken,  but  was  none 
the  less  understood.  Miss  Bennett  knew  that  when 
the  heads  of  the  stairs  was  reached  the  blows  would 
be  returned  with  interest. 

[Usually  in  the  long  struggle  between  these  two 
indomitable  wills  Miss  Bennett  had  been  on  Joe 
Thome's  side,  coarse,  violent  man  though  he  was,  for 
she  was  old-fashioned  and  believed  that  children 
ought  to  obey.  But  this  night  he  had  alienated  her 
sympathy  by  being  rude  to  her  —  for  the  first  and  last 
time.  He  had  come  home  after  one  of  his  long 
absences  to  the  hideous  house  in  Fifth  Avenue  in 
which  he  took  so  much  pride,  and  had  found  these 
two  new  pets  of  Lydia's  careening  about  the  hall  like 
young  calves.  He  had  turned  on  Miss  Bennett. 

"What  the  hell  do  you  let  her  do  such  things  for  ?" 
he  had  demanded,  and  Miss  Bennett  had  answered 
jvith  unusual  spirit. 

"Because  she's  so  badly  brought  up,  Mr.  Thome, 
that  no  one  can  do  anything  with  her." 

Lydia  had  stood  by  defiantly,  glancing  from  one 
to  the  other,  with  a  hand  in  the  collar  of  each  of  her 


MANSLAUGHTER  3 

dogs,  her  face  pale,  her  jaw  set,  her  head  not  much 
above  the  sleek  battleship-gray  heads  of  the  great 
Danes,  her  small  body  pulled  first  one  way  and  then 
the  other  by  their  gambols.  All  the  time  she  was 
saying  over  and  over,  "I  will  keep  them!  I  will! 
I  will!" 

She  hadn't  kept  them ;  she  had  lost  that  particular 
skirmish  in  the  long  war.  "Not  till  some  years  later 
did  she  begin  to  win;  but  whether  she  lqst..or  won, 
Miss  Bennett  was  always  conscious  of  a  rush  of  pity 
for  the  slim,  black-eyed  little  girl  thrusting  her  iron 
will  so  fearlessly  against  that  of  the  m4n  from  whom 
she  had  inherited  it. 

And  for  the  Lydia  of  to-day,  now  ^engaged  in 
thrusting  her  will  against  the  will  of.  the  world,  Miss 
[Bennett  felt  the  same  unreasoning  pity  —  pity  which 
rendered  her  weak  in  her  own  defense  when  any 
dispute  arose  between  them.  She  and  Lydia  had 
been  having  a  scene  now ;  only  a  little  scene  —  hardly 
more  than  a  discussion. 

Morson  saw  it  clearly  when  he  came  in  after  luncE- 
eon  to  get  the  coffee  cups,  although  a  complete  and 
decorous  silence  greeted  his  entrance.  He  saw  it  in 
the  way  in  which  his  young  employer  was  standing, 
as  erect  as  an  Indan,  looking  slantingly  down  her 
cheek  at  her  companion.  Miss  Bennett  was  sitting 
on  the  sofa  with  her  feet  in  their  high-heeled  satin 
slippers  crossed,  and  she  was  slipping  the  rings  nerv 
ously  up  and  down  her  fine,  thin  fingers. 


$  MANSLAUGHTEK 

She  was  a  small,  well-made  woman,  to  whom  pret- 
tiness  had  come  with  her  gray  hair.  The  perfec 
tion  of  all  her  appointments,  which  might  once  have 
been  interpreted  as  the  vanity  of  youth,  turned  out  to 
be  a  settled  nicety  that  stood  her  in  good  stead  in 
middle  life  and  differentiated  her  at  fifty-five  —  a 
neat,  elegant  little  figure  among  her  contempo 
raries. 

The  knowledge  that  he  was  interrupting  a  discus 
sion  did  not  hurry  Morson  any  more  than  the  faintest 
Curiosity  delayed  him.  He  brushed  up  the  hearth, 
turned  a  displaced  chair,  collected  the  cups  on  his 
tray  and  left  the  room  at  exactly  the  same  pace  at 
which  he  had  entered  it.  He  had  known  many  scenes 
in  his  day. 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed  behind  him  Miss  Ben 
nett  said :  "Of  course,  if  you  meant  you  don't  want 
me  to  ask  my  friends  to  your  house  you  are  perfectly; 
within  your  rights,  but  I  could  not  stay;  with  you, 
lydia." 

"You  know  I  don't  mean  that,  Benny,"  said  the 
girl  without  either  anger  or  apology  in  her  voice. 
"I'm  delighted  to  have  you  have  anyone  at  all  when 
I'm  not  here  and  anyone  amusing  when  I  am.  The 
point  is  that  those  old  women  were  tiresome.  They, 
bored  you  and  you  knew  that  they  were  going  to  bore 
me.  You  sacrificed  me  to  make  a  Roman  holiday, 
for  them." 

Miss  Bennett  could  not  let  this  pass. 


MANSLAUGHTEK  5 

"You  should  feel  it  an  honor  —  a  woman  like  Mrs. 
•G-alton,  whose  work  among  the  female  prisoners  of 
this " 

"Noble  women,  noble  women,  I  have  no  doubt,  but 
bores,  and  it  makes  me  feel  sick,  literally  sick,  to  be 
bored." 

"Don't  be  coarse,  Lydia." 

"Sick  —  here,"  said  Lydia  with  a  sharp  dig  of  her 
long  fingers  on  her  diaphragm.  "Let's  be  clear  about 
this,  Benny.  I  can't  stand  having  my  own  tiresome 
[friends  about,  and  I  will  not  put  up  with  having 
yours." 

Lydia  had  come  home  after  a  morning  of  shopping 
in  town.  Disagreeable  things  had  happened,  only 
Benny  did  not  know  that.  She  had  bought  a  hat  — 
a  tomato-colored  hat  —  had  worn  it  a  block  and  de 
cided  it  was  a  mistake,  and  had  gone  back  and  wanted 
(to  change  it,  and  the  woman  had  refused  to  take  it 
back  There  had  been  little  consolation  in  removing 
her  custom  from  the  shop  forever  —  she  had  been 
forced  to  keep  the  hat.  Then  motoring  back  to  Long 
Island  a  tire  had  gone,  and  she  had  come  in  late  for 
luncheon  to  find  Benny  amiably  entertaining  the  two 
old  ladies. 

The  very  fact  that  they  were,  as  she  said,  noble 
jwomen,  that  their  minds  moved  with  the  ponderous 
exactitude  characteristic  of  so  many  good  executives, 
made  their  society  all  the  more  trying  to  Lydia.  She 
Iwearied  of  them,  wearied,  as  Mariana  in  the  Moated 


L6  MANSLAUGHTER 

Grange.  She  had  so  often  asked  Benny  not  to  do 
this  to  her  and  after  all  it  was  her  house. 

"You're  very  hard,  my  dear/'  said  her  companion 
—  "very  hard  and  very  ignorant  and  very  young. 
If  you  could  only  find  an  interest  in  such  work  as 
Mrs.  Galton  is  doing " 

"Good  heavens,  was  this  a  benevolent  plot  on  your 
part  to  find  me  an  interest  1" 

Miss  Bennett  looked  dignified  and  a  little  stub 
born,  as  if  she  were  accustomed  to  being  misunder 
stood,  as  if  Lydia  ought  to  have  known  that  she  had 
had  a  reason  for  what  she  did.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
she  had  no  plan;  she  was  not  a  plotter.  That  was 
one  of  the  difficulties  between  her  and  Lydia.  Lydia 
arranged  her  life,  controlled  her  time  and  her  sur 
roundings.  Miss  Bennett  amiably  drifted,  letting 
events  and  her  friends  control.  She  could  never  un 
derstand  why  Lydia  held  her  responsible  for  situ 
ations  which  it  seemed  to  her  simply  happened,  and 
yet  she  could  never  resist  pretending  that  she  had 
deliberately  brought  them  about.  She  began  to  think 
now  that  it  had  been  her  idea,  not  Mrs.  Galton' s,  to 
get  Lydia  interested  in  prison  reform. 

"No  one  can  be  happy,  Lydia,  without  an  unsel 
fish  interest,  some  i.g  outside  of  themselves." 

Lydia  smiled.  _.  ^  was  something  pathetic  in 
poor  little  ineffective  Benny  trying  to  arrange  her  life 
for  her. 

"I  contrive  to  be  fairly  happy,  thank  you,  Benny. 


MANSLAUGHTEK  7 

I've  got  to  leave  you,  because  I  have  an  engagement 
at  Eleanor's  at  four,   and  it's  ten  minutes  before 


now." 


"Lydia,  it's  ten  miles!" 

"Ten  miles  —  ten  minutes." 

"You'll  be  killed  if  you  drive  so  recklessly." 

"No  Benny,  because  I  drive  very  well." 

"You'll  be  arrested  then." 

"Even  less." 

"How  can  you  be  so  sure  ?" 

That  was  something  that  it  was  better  not  to  telly 
BO  Lydia  went  away  laughing,  leaving  Miss  Bennett 
to  wonder,  as  she  always  did  after  one  of  these  inter 
views,  how  it  was  possible  to  feel  so  superior  to  Lydia 
when  they  were  apart  and  so  ineffectual  when  they 
were  together.  She  always  came  to  the  same  con 
clusion  —  that  she  was  betrayed  by  her  own  fineness ; 
that  she  was  more  aware  of  shades,  of  traditions  than 
this  little  daughter  of  a  workingman.  Lydia  was  not 
little.  She  was  half  a  foot  taller  than  Adeline  Ben 
nett's  own  modest  five-feet-two,  but  the  adjective  ex 
pressed  a  latent  wish.  Miss  Bennett  often  intro 
duced  it  into  her  descriptions.  A  nice  little  man,  a 
clever  little  woman,  a  dear  little  person  were  some  of 
her  favorite  tags.  They  made  her  bulk  larger  in 

her  own  vision. 

rii  i"'£ 

The  little  daughter  of  the  w^Kingman  ran  up 
stairs  for  her  hat.  She  found  her  maid,  Evans,  en 
gaged  in  polishing  her  jewels.  The  rite  of  polishing 


8  MANSLAUGHTER 

Miss  Thome's  jewels  took  place  in  the  bathroom, 
which  was  also  a  dressing  room,  containing  long 
mirrors,  a  dressing  table,  cupboards  with  glass  doors 
through  which  Miss  Thome's  bright  hats  and  berib- 
boned  underclothes  showed  faintly.  It  was  carpeted 
and  curtained  and  larger  than  many  a  hall  bed 
room. 

Here  Evans,  a  pale,  wistful  English  girl,  was 
spreading  out  the  jewelry  as  she  finished  each  piece, 
laying  them  on  a  white  towel  where  the  rays  of  the 
afternoon  sun  fell  upon  them  —  the  cabochon  ruby 
like  a  dome  of  frozen  blood,  the  flat,  clear  diamond 
as  blue  as  ice,  and  the  band  of  emeralds  and  dia 
monds  for  her  hair  flashing  rays  of  green  and  orange 
lights.  Lydia  liked  her  jewelry  for  the  best  of  all  rea 
sons  —  she  had  bought  most  of  it  herself.  She  par 
ticularly  liked  the  emerald  band,  which  made  her 
look  like  an  Eastern  princess  in  a  Russian  ballet, 
and  in  her  opinion  exactly  fitted  her  type.  But  her 
beauty  was  not  so  easily  classified  as  she  thought.  To 
describe  her  in  words  was  to  describe  a  picture  by 
Cabanel  of  The  Star  of  the  Harem  —  such  a  picture 
as  the  galleries  of  the  second  half  of  the  nineteenth 
century  were  sure  to  contain  —  the  oval  face,  the 
splendid  dark  eyes,  the  fine  black  eyebrows,  the  raven 
hair;  but  Lydia's  skin  was  not  transparently  white, 
and  a  slight  heightening  of  her  cheek  bones  and  a 
thrust  forward  of  her  jaw  suggested  something  more 
Indian  than  Eastern,  something  that  made  her  seern 


MANSLAUGHTER  9 

more  at  home  on  a  mountain  trail  than  on  the  edge 
of  a  marble  pool. 

As  she  entered,  Evans  was  brushing  the  last  traces 
of  powder  from  a  little  diamond  bracelet  less  mod 
ern  than  the  other  pieces.  Lydia  took  it  in  her  hand. 

"I  almost  forgot  I  had  that,"  she  said. 

Three  or  four  years  before,  when  she  had  first 
known  Bobby  Dorset,  when  they  had  been  very 
young,  he  had  given  it  to  her.  It  had  been  his 
mother's,  and  she  had  worn  it  constantly  for  a  year 
or  so.  An  impulse  of  tenderness  made  her  slip  it 
on  her  arm  now,  and  as  it  clung  there  like  a  living 
pressure  the  heavy  feeling  of  it  faintly  revived  a 
whole  cycle  of  old  emotions.  She  thought  to  herself 
that  she  had  some  human  affections  after  all. 

"It  ought  to  be  reset,  miss,"  said  Evans.  "The 
gold  spoils  the  diamonds." 

"You  do  keep  my  things  beautifully,  Evans." 

The  girl  colored  at  the  praise,  not  often  given  by 
her  rapidly  moving  young  mistress,  and  the  muscles 
twitched  in  her  throat. 

"A  hat  —  any  hat,  Evans." 

She  pulled  it  on  with  one  quick,  level  glance  in 
the  glass,  and  was  gone  with  the  bracelet,  half  for 
gotten,  on  her  arm. 

During  the  few  minutes  that  Lydia  had  been  up 
stairs  a  conflict  had  gone  on  in  the  mind  of  Miss 
Bennett  downstairs.  Should  she  be  offended  or 
should  she  be  superior?  Was  it  more  dignified  to 


10  MANSLAUGHTER 

be  angry  because  she  really  could  not  allow  herself 
to  be  treated  like  that?  Or  should  she  forgive  be 
cause  she  was  obviously  so  much  older  and  wiser  than 
Lydia  ? 

She  decided  —  as  she  always  did  —  in  favor  of 
forgiveness,  and  as  she  heard  Lydia's  quick  light  foot 
steps  crossing  the  hall  she  called  out,  "Don't  drive  the 
little  car  too  fast!" 

"Not  over  sixty,"  Lydia's  voice  answered. 

As  she  sprang  into  the  gray  runabout  waiting  at 
the  door  with  its  front  wheels  turned  invitingly  out 
ward,  pressed  on  the  self-starter  with  her  foot,  slid 
the  gears  in  without  a  sound,  it  looked  as  if  she  in 
tended  her  reply  to  be  taken  literally.  But  the  speed 
ometer  registered  only  thirty  on  her  own  drive  — 
thirty-five  as  she  straightened  out  on  the  highway. 
As  she  said,  she  never  drove  fast  without  a  good  rea 
son. 

Like  most  people  of  her  type  and  situation,  Lydia 
was  habitually  late.  The  reason  she  gave  to  herself 
was  that  she  crowded  a  little  more  activity  into  the 
twenty-four  hours  than  those  who  managed  to  be  on 
time.  But  the  true  reason  was  that  she  preferred  to 
be  waited  for  rather  than  to  run  any  risk  of  waiting 
herself.  It  seemed  a  distinct  humiliation  to  her  that 
she  should  await  anyone  else's  convenience.  To 
day,  however,  she  had  a  motive  for  being  on  time  — 
that  is  to  say,  not  more  than  twenty  minutes  late. 
They  were  going  to  play  bridge  at  Eleanor's  and 


MANSLAUGHTER  11 

Bobby  would  be  there;  and  for  some  reason  she 
never  understood  it  fussed  Bobby  if  she  were  late  and 
everyone  began  abusing  her  behind  her  back ;  and  if 
Bobby  were  fussed  he  lost  money,  and  he  couldn't 
afford  to  lose  it.  She  hated  Bobby  to  lose  money  — 
minded  it  for  him  more  than  he  minded  it  for  him 
self. 

One  of  the  facts  that  she  saw  most  clearly  in  re 
gard  to  her  own  life  was  that  the  man  she  married 
must  be  a  man  of  importance,  not  only  because  her 
friends  expected  that  of  her  but  because  she  needed 
a  purpose,  a  heightened  interest  —  a  great  man  in  her 
life.  Yet  strangely  enough  the  only  men  to  whom 
her  heart  had  ever  softened  were  idle,  worthless  men, 
of  whom  Bobby  was  only  a  sample.  Among  women 
she  liked  the  positive  qualities  —  courage,  brilliance, 
achievement;  but  among  men  she  seemed  to  have 
selected  those  who  needed  a  strong  controlling  hand 
upon  their  destiny.  Benny  said  it  was  the  maternal 
in  her,  but  less  friendly  critics  said  it  was  the  boss* 
Perhaps  the  two  are  not  so  dissociated  as  is  generally 
thought.  Lydia  repudiated  the  maternal  explanation 
without  finding  another.  Only  she  knew  that  the  very 
thing  that  made  her  fond  of  men  like  Bobby  prevented 
her  falling  in  love  with  them ;  whereas  the  men  with 
whom  it  seemed  possible  to  fall  in  love  were  men: 
\vith  whom  she  always  quarreled,  so  that  instead 
of  love  there  was  not  even  friendship. 

Some  years  before  she  had  been  actually  engaged 


12  MANSLAUGHTEB 

to  be  married  —  though,  the  engagement  had  never 
been  announced  —  to  an  Englishman,  a  thin,  hawk- 
faced  man,  the  Marquis  of  Ilseboro.  She  was  not 
in  love  with  him,  though  he  was  a  man  with  whom 
women  did  fall  in  love.  Benny  had  been  crazy  about 
him.  He  was  companionable  in  a  silent  sort  of  way, 
made  love  to  her  with  extreme  assurance  and  knew 
a  great  deal  about  life  and  women. 

But  from  the  very  first  their  two  wills  had  clashed 
in  small  matters  —  in  questions  of  invitations,  man 
ners,  Lydia's  dress.  Again  and  again  Ilseboro  had 
yielded,  but  yielded  with  a  deliberation  that  gave  no 
suggestion  of  defeat.  These  struggles  which  go  on  out 
of  sight  and  below  consciousness  in  most  relations  are 
never  decided  by  the  actual  event  but  by  the  strength 
of  position  in  which  the  combatants  are  left.  Benny, 
for  instance,  sometimes  did  the  most  rebellious  things, 
but  did  them  in  a  sort  of  frenzy  of  panic,  followed 
by  unsought  explanations.  Ilseboro  was  just  the  re 
verse.  He  yielded  because  he  had  a  positive  wish 
to  adjust  himself,  as  far  as  possible,  to  her  wishes. 
Lydia  began  to  be  not  afraid  of  him,  for  like  Caesar 
she  was  not  liable  to  fear,  but  dimly  aware  that  his 
was  a  stronger  nature  than  her  own.  This  means 
either  love  or  hate.  There  had  been  a  few  hours  one 
evening  when  she  had  felt  grateful,  admiring,  eager 
to  give  up;  when  if  she  had  loved  him  at  all  she 
Could  have  worshiped  him.  But  she  did  not  love 
him,  and  when  she  saw  that  what  he  was  looking 


MANSLAUGHTER  13 

forward  to  was  fitting  her  into  a  niche  which  he'd 
been  building  for  centuries  for  the  wives  of  the  Ilse- 
boros  she  really  hated  him. 

Ever  since  her  childhood  the  prospect  of  laying 
aside  her  own  will  had  stirred  her  to  revolt.  She 
could  still  remember  waking  herself  up  with  a  start 
in  terror  at  the  thought  that  in  sleep  she  would  doff 
her  will  for  so  many  hours.  Later  her  father  had 
wished  to  send  her  to  a  fashionable  boarding  school; 
but  she  had  made  such  wild  scenes  at  the  idea  of  being 
shut  up  —  of  being  one  of  a  community  —  that  the 
plan  had  been  given  up.  She  would  have  married 
anyone  in  order  to  be  free,  but  being  already  uncom 
monly  free  she  rebelled  at  the  idea  of  giving  up  her 
individuality  by  marriage,  particularly  by  mar 
riage  with  Ilseboro.  She  broke  her  engagement.  Ilse- 
boro  had  loved  her  and  made  himself  disagreeable. 
She  never  forgot  the  parting  curse  he  put  upon 
her. 

"The  trouble  with  being  such  a  damned  bully  as 
you  are,  my  dear  Lydia,"  he  said,  "is  that  you'll 
always  get  such  second-rate  playmates." 

She  answered  that  no  one  ought  to  know  better 
than  he  did.  His  manner  to  her  servants  had  long 
secretly  shocked  her.  He  spoke  to  them  without  one 
shade  of  humanity  in  his  tone,  yet  oddly  enough  they 
all  liked  him  except  the  chauffeur,  who  was  an 
American  and  couldn't  hear  him,  feeling  the  very; 
essence  of  class  superiority  in  that  tone. 


14  MANSLAUGHTER 

A  few  months  later  she  showed  an  English  illus 
trated  to  Miss  Bennett. 

"A  picture  of  the  girl  Ilseboro  is  going  to  marry." 

There  was  a  pause  while  Miss  Bennett  read  those 
romantic  words :  "A  marriage  has  been  arranged  and 
will  shortly  take  place  between  George  Frederick 
Albert  Reade,  Marquis  of  Ilseboro,  and " 

"She  looks  like  a  lady,"  said  Miss  Bennett. 

"She  looks  like  a  rabbit,"  said  Lydia.  "Just  think 
how  Freddy  will  order  her  about !" 

It  was  not  in  her  nature  to  feel  remorse  for  her 
well-considered  actions,  and  she  soon  forgot  that  Ilse- 
fcoro  had  ever  existed,  except  for  certain  things  she 
had  learned  from  him  —  a  way  of  being  silent  while 
people  explained  to  you  you  couldn't  do  something 
you  intended  to  do,  and  then  doing  it  instead  of  argu 
ing  about  it,  as  had  been  her  old  habit ;  and  an  excel 
lent  manner  with  butlers  too. 

Her  foot  pressed  gently  on  the  accelerator,  when 
the  road  became  straight,  holding  the  car  now  at  forty 
miles.  On  either  side  of  the  road  purple  cabbages 
grew  like  a  tufted  carpet  to  the  very  edge  of  the  mac 
adam,  without  fences  or  hedges  to  protect  them. 
There  was  enough  mist  in  the  autumn  air  to  magnify 
the  low  hills  along  the  Sound  to  an  imposingly  vague 
bulk,  and  to  turn  the  cloudless  sky  to  a  threatening 
bluish  gray.  In  every  other  direction  the  flat,  fertile, 
sandy  plains  of  Long  Island  stretched  uninterrupt 
edly. 


MANSLAUGHTER  15 

It  was  really  a  beautiful  afternoon  —  too  beautiful 
to  spend  playing  bridge  in  a  stuffy  room.  It  might 
be  more  sensible,  she  thought,  to  break  up  the  party, 
kidnap  Bobby  and  drive  him  over  to  sit  on  the  edge 
of  the  water  and  watch  the  moon  rise ;  only  she  rather 
feared  the  moon  was  over.  Of  course  she  was  dining 
at  the  Leonard  Piers'  that  evening,  but  it  was  a  party 
eminently  chuckable  —  that  is  to  say,  she  was  going 
to  please  them  rather  than  herself.  Anyhow,  she 
would  have  Eleanor  move  the  bridge  table  out  on  the 
terrace.  Eleanor  was  so  stupid  about  preferring  to 
play  indoors. 

A  minute  figure,  smaller  than  a  man's  hand,  flashed 
into  the  little  mirror  at  her  left.  Was  it  —  no  — 
yes?  A  bicycle  policeman!  Well,  she  would  give 
him  a  little  race  for  his  stupidity  in  not  recognizing 
her.  She  loved  speed  —  it  made  her  a  little  drunk. 
The  needle  swung  to  forty-five  —  to  fifty,  and  hung 
there.  She  passed  a  governess  cart  full  of  children 
with  a  sound  like  "whist"  as  the  wind  rushed  by. 
IsTow  there  was  a  straight  road,  and  clear. 

The  miniature  figure  kept  growing  and  growing 
until  it  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  circle  of  the  mirror. 
The  sound  of  the  motorcycle  drowned  the  sound  of 
her  own  car.  A  voice  shouted  "Stop !"  almost  in  her 
ear.  Turning  her  head  slightly  to  the  left,  she  saw 
a  khaki  figure  was  abreast  of  her.  She  slowed  the 
(jar  down  and  stopped  it.  A  sun-burned  young  face 
flushed  with  anger  glared  at  her. 


16  MANSLAUGHTER 

"Here,  what  do  you  think  this  is  ?    A  race  track  ?" 

Lydia  did  not  answer,  staring  straight  ahead  of 
her.  She  was  thinking  that  it  was  a  foolish  waste  of 
taxpayers'  money  to  keep  changing  the  policemen. 
Just  as  you  reached  a  satisfactory  arrangement  with 
one  of  them  you  found  yourself  confronted  by  an 
other.  She  wasn't  in  the  least  alarmed,  though  he 
was  scolding  her  roughly  —  scolding,  to  be  candid, 
very  much  as  her  own  father  had  done.  She  did  not 
object  to  his  words,  but  she  hated  the  power  of  the 
law  behind  them  —  hated  the  idea  that  she  herself 
was  not  the  final  judge  of  the  rate  at  which  she  should 
drive. 

Now  he  was  getting  his  summons  ready.  Glancing 
idly  into  her  mirror,  she  saw  far  away,  like  a  little 
moving  picture,  the  governess  cart  come  into  view. 
She  intended  to  settle  the  matter  before  those  giggling, 
goggle-eyed  children  came  abreast.  She  was  a  person 
in  whom  action  followed  easily  and  instantly  from  the 
decision  to  act  Most  people,  after  making  a  decision, 
hesitate  like  a  stream  above  a  waterfall,  and  then 
plunging  too  quickly,  end  in  foam  and  whirlpools. 
But  Lydia's  will,  for  good  or  evil,  flowed  with  a 
steady  current. 

She  looked  down  at  the  seat  beside  her  for  her  mesh 
bag,  opened  it  and  found  that  Evans,  who  was  a  good 
deal  of  a  goose,  had  forgotten  to  put  her  purse  in  it, 
although  she  knew  bridge  was  to  be  played.  Lydia 
looked  up  and  saw  that  the  officer  of  the  law  had  fol- 


MANSLAUGHTEK  17 

lowed  her  gesture  with  his  eyes.  She  slipped  Bobby's 
bracelet  off  her  arm,  and  holding  her  hand  well  over 
the  edge  of  the  car  dropped  it  on  the  road.  She  heard 
it  tinkle  on  the  hard  surface. 

"You  dropped  something,"  he  said. 

"No." 

He  swung  a  gaitered  leg  from  the  motorcycle  and 
picked  up  the  bracelet. 

"Isn't  this  yours  ?" 

She  smiled  very  slightly  and  shook  her  head,  once 
again  in  complete  mastery  of  the  situation. 

"Whose  is  it  then  ?" 

"I  think  it  must  be  yours,"  she  answered  with  a 
sort  of  sweet  contempt,  and  still  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eye  she  leaned  over  and  put  her  gear  in  first. 
He  said  nothing,  and  her  car  began  to  move  forward. 
Presently  she  heard  the  sound  of  a  motorcycle  going 
in  the  opposite  direction.  She  smiled  to  herself. 
There  was  always  a  way. 

She  found  them  waiting  for  her  at  Eleanor's,  and 
she  felt  at  once  that  the  atmosphere  was  hostile ;  but 
when  Lydia  really  liked  people,  and  she  really  liked 
all  the  three  who  were  waiting,  she  had  command  of 
a  wonderfully  friendly  cooperative  sort  of  gayety; 
that  was  hard  to  resist. 

She  liked  Eleanor  Bellington  better  than  any 
woman  she  knew.  They  had  been  friends  since  their 
school  days.  Eleanor  had  brains  and  a  dry,  bitter 
tongue,  usually  silent,  and  she  wasn't  the  least  bit 


18  MANSLAUGHTER 

afraid  of  Ljdia.  Site  was  blond,  plain,  aristocratic, 
independent  and  some  years  Lydia's  senior.  Fear 
less  in  thought,  she  was  conservative  in  conduct.  All 
her  activity  was  in  the  intellectual  field,  or  else  vicari 
ously,  through  the  activity  of  others.  There  were 
always  two  or  three  interesting  men,  coming  men, 
men  of  whom  one  said  on  speaking  of  them  "You 
know,  he's  the  man "  who  seemed  to  be  inti 
mately  woven  into  Eleanor's  everyday  life.  A  never- 
ending  subject  of  discussion  among  Miss  Belling- 
ton's  friends  was  the  exact  emotional  standing  of  these 
intimacies  of  Nellie's, 

Lydia  liked  Tim  Andrews  too  —  a  young  man  of 
Universal  friendships  and  no  emotions;  but  most 
necessary  of  all  to  her  enjoyment  was  Bobby  Dorset, 
,who  came  out  to  meet  her,  sauntering  down  the  steps 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  looked  exactly 
as  a  young  man  ought  to  look  —  physically  fit,  mascu 
line.  He  was  young  —  younger  than  his  twenty-six 
years.  There  wasn't  a  line  of  any  kind  in  his  clean 
shaven  face,  and  the  time  had  come  —  had  almost 
icome  —  when  something  ought  to  have  been  written 
there.  The  page  was  remaining  blank  too  long.  That 
was  the  only  criticism  possible  of  Bobby's  appearance, 
and  perhaps  only  an  elderly  critic  would  have  thought 
of  making  it.  Lydia  certainly  did  not.  When  he 
smiled  at  her,  showing  his  regular,  handsome  teeth, 
she  thought  he  was  the  nicest-looking  person  she 
knew. 


MANSLAUGHTER  19 

STust  as  she  had  expected,  the  bridge  table  was  set 
inside  the  house,  and  while  she  was  protesting  and 
having  it  moved  to  the  terrace  she  mentioned  that 
she  was  late  because  she  had  had  a  fuss  with  Miss 
Bennett. 

"Dear  little  Benny,"  said  Andrews.  "She's  like 
a  nice  brown-eyed  animal  with  gray  fur,  isn't  she?" 

"Tim  always  talks  as  if  he  were  in  love  witK 
Benny." 

"She's  so  gentle,  Lydia,  and  you  are  so  ruthless 
^dth  her,"  said  Dorset. 

"I  have  to  be,  Bobby,"  answered  Lydia,  and  per- 
Haps  to  no  one  else  would  she  have  stooped  to  offer 
an  explanation.  "She's  gentle,  but  marvelously  per 
sistent.  She  gets  her  own  way  by  slow  infiltration. 
I  wish  you'd  all  tell  me  what  to  do.  Benny  is  a  person 
on  whom  what  you  say  in  a  critical  way  makes  no  im 
pression  until  you  say  it  so  as  to  hurt  her  feelings, 
and  then  it  makes  no  impression  because  she's  so  taken 
top  with  her  feelings  being  hurt.  That's  my  problem 
with  her." 

"It's  everybody's  problem  with  everybody,"  replied 
Eleanor. 

"She  likes  to  ask  her  dull  friends  to  the  house  when 
I'm  there  to  entertain  them." 

"Entertain  them  with  a  blackjack,"  said  Bobby. 

"She  had  two  prison  reformers  there  to-day  —  old 
fwomen  with  pear-shaped  faces,  and  I  had  a  perfectly 
horrid  morning  in  town  trying  to  get  some  rags  to  put 


20  MANSLAUGHTER 

on  my  back,  and  —  Nell,  will  you  tell  me  why  you 
recommended  Lurline  to  me?  I  never  saw  such 
atrocious  clothes." 

"I  didn't  recommend  her,"  answered  Nellie,  un- 
Btampeded  by  the  attack.  "I  told  you  that  pale,  pearl- 
like  chorus  girl  dressed  there,  and  your  latent  desire 
to  dress  like  a  chorus  girl " 

"Oh,  Lydia  doesn't  want  to  dress  like  a  chorus 
girl!" 

'Thank  you,  Bobby." 

"She  wants  to  dress  like  the  savages  in  A'ida." 

"In  mauve  maillots  and  chains  ?" 

"In  tiger  skins  and  beads,  and  crouch  through  the 
rjungle." 

"I  was  so  sulky  I  didn't  give  a  cent  to  prison 
reform.  Do  you  think  prisons  ought  to  be  made  too 
pomfortable  ?  I  don't  want  to  be  cruel,  but " 

"Well,  it's  something,  my  dear,  that  you  don't  want 
to  be." 

"You  mean  I  am  ?  That's  what  Benny  says.  But 
I'm  not.  Is  this  ten  cents  a  point  ?" 

Eleanor,  who  like  many  intellectuals  found  her  ex 
citement  in  fields  where  chance  was  eliminated,  pro 
tested  that  ten  cents  a  point  was  too  high,  but  her 
(objections  were  swept  away  by  Lydia. 

"Oh,  no,  Eleanor;  play  for  beans  if  you  want;  but 
If  you  are  going  to  gamble  at  all " 

Tim  Andrews  interrupted. 

"My  dear  Lydia,"  he  said,  "I  feel  it  only  right  to 


MANSLAUGHTER  21 

tell  you  that  the  Anti-Lydia  Club  was  being  organized 
when  you  arrived.  Its  membership  consists  of  all 
those  you  have  bullied,  and  its  object  is  to  oppose  you 
in  all  small  matters." 

"Whether  I'm  right  or  not,  Tim?" 

"Everybody's  worst  when  they're  right,"  mur 
mured  Eleanor. 

"We  decided  before  you  came  that  we  all  wished  to 
play  five  cents  a  point,"  Tim  continued  firmly. 

"All  right,"  said  Lydia  briskly.  "Only  you  know 
it  bores  me,  and  it  bores  Bobby,  too,  doesn't  it, 
Bobby?" 

"Not  particularly,"  replied  Dorset;  "but  I  know 
if  it  bores  you  none  of  us  will  have  a  pleasant  time." 

Lydia  smiled. 

"Is  that  an  insult  or  a  tribute  ?" 

Bobby  smiled  back  at  her. 

"I  think  it's  an  insult,  but  you  rather  like  it." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  playing  for  ten 
icents  a  point. 


CHAPTER  n 

LYDIA  had  offered  to  drop  Bobby  at  the  railroad 
station  on  her  way  home,  although  she  had  to 
go  a  few  miles  out  of  her  way  to  do  it.  He  was 
going  back  to  town.  It  was  dark  by  the  time  they( 
started.  She  liked  the  feeling  of  having  him  there 
tucked  in  beside  her  while  she  absolutely  controlled 
his  destiny  for  the  next  half  hour.  She  liked  even  to 
take  risks  with  his  life,  more  precious  to  her  at  least 
for  the  time  than  any  other,  in  the  hope  that  he  would 
protest,  but  he  never  did.  He  understood  his  Lydia. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  observed,  "I  suppose  you 
know  Eleanor  has  a  new  young  man." 

"Intensely  interesting,  or  absolutely  worth  while  ?" 
he  asked. 

"Both,  according  to  her.  She's  bringing  him  out 
at  the  Piers'  this  evening.  She  was  just  asking  me 
to  be  nice  to  him." 

"Like  asking  the  boa  constrictor  to  be  nice  to  a  new 
born  lamb,  isn't  it  2" 

"If  I'm  nice  to  her  men  it  gives  her  a  feeling  of 
confidence  in  them." 

"If  you're  nice  to  them  you  take  them  away;  from 

her."   ' 

22 


MANSLAUGHTER  23 

"No,  Bobby.  It's  a  funny  thing,  but  it  isn't  so  easy; 
as  you  think  to  get  Eleanor's  men  away  from  her." 

"Ah,  you've  tried  ?> 

"She  has  a  funny  kind  of  hold  on  them.  It's  her 
brains.  She  has  brains,  and  they  appreciate  it.  I 
don't  often  want  her  men.  They're  apt  to  be  so  dread 
ful.  Do  you  remember  the  biologist  with  the  pearl 
buttons  on  his  boots  ?  This  one  is  in  politics  —  or 
something.  He  has  a  funny  name  —  O'Bannon." 

"Oh,  yes  — Dan  O'Bannon." 

"You  know  him  ?" 

"I  used  to  know  him  in  college.  Lord,  he  was  a 
[wild  man  in  those  days!"  Bobby  snickered  remi- 
niscently.  "And  now  he's  the  local  district  at 
torney." 

"What  does  a  district  attorney  do,  Bobby  ?" 

<rWhy,  he's  a  fellow  elected  by  the  county  to  prose 
cute " 

"Look  here,  Bobby,  if  the  Emmonses  ask  you  to 
spend  this  coming  Sunday  with  them,  go,  because  I'm 
going."  She  interrupted  him  because  it  was  the  kind 
of  explanation  that  she  had  never  been  able  to  listen 
to.  In  fact  she  had  so  completely  ceased  to  listen  that 
she  was  unaware  of  having  interrupted  the  answer  to 
her  own  question,  and  Bobby  did  not  care  to  bring 
the  matter  to  her  attention  for  fear  her  invitation  to 
the  Emmonses  might  be  lost  in  the  subsequent 
scuffle.  Besides  he  esteemed  it  his  own  fault.  Most 
people  who  ask  you  a  question  like  that  really  mean 


24:  MANSLAUGHTER 

to  say,  "Would  there  be  anything  interesting  to  me 
in  the  answer  to  this  question  ?  If  not,  for  goodness5 
sake  don't  answer  it."  So  he  gladly  abandoned  de 
fining  the  duties  of  the  district  attorney  and  answered 
her  more  important  statement. 

"Of  course  I'll  go,  only  they  haven't  asked  me." 

"They  will  —  or  else  I  won't  go.  You'll  come  out 
on  Friday  afternoon." 

"I  can't,  Lydia,  until  Saturday." 

"Now,  Bobby,  don't  be  absurd.  Don't  let  that  old 
man  treat  you  like  a  slave." 

Lydia's  attitude  to  Bobby's  work  was  a  trifle  con 
fusing.  She  wished  him  to  attain  a  commanding 
position  in  the  financial  world  but  had  no  patience 
with  his  industry  when  it  interfered  with  her  own 
plans.  The  attaining  of  any  position  at  all  seemed 
unlikely  in  Bobby's  case.  He  was  a  clerk  in  the  great 
banking  house  of  Gordon  &  Co.,  a  firm  which  in  the 
course  of  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  years  had  built 
itself  into  the  very  financial  existence  of  the  country. 
In  almost  any  part  of  the  civilized  globe  to  say  you 
•were  with  Gordon  &  Co.  was  a  proud  boast.  But 
pride  was  all  that  a  man  of  Bobby's  type  was  likely 
to  get  out  of  it.  Promotion  was  slow.  Lydia  talked 
of  a  junior  partnership  some  day,  but  Bobby  knew 
that  partnerships  in  Gordon  &  Co.  went  to  qualities 
more  positively  valuable  than  his.  Sometimes  he 
thought  of  leaving  them,  but  he  could  not  bear  to  give 
up  the  easy  honor  of  the  connection. 


MANSLAUGHTER  25 

It  was  better  to  be  a  doorkeeper  with  Gordon  &  Co. 
than  a  partner  with  some  ephemeral  firm. 

It  amused  him  to  hear  her  talk  of  Peter  Gordon 
treating  him  like  a  slave.  The  dignified,  middle- 
aged  head  of  the  firm,  whose  business  was  like  an! 
ancestral  religion  to  him,  hardly  knew  his  clerks  by 
eight. 

"It  isn't  exactly  servile  to  work  half  a  day  on  Sat 
urday,"  he  said  mildly. 

"They'd  respect  you  more  if  you  asserted  yourself. 
Do  come  on  Friday,  Bobby.  I  shall  be  so  bored  if 
you're  not  there." 

He  reflected  that  after  all  he  would  rather  be  dis 
missed  by  Gordon  &  Co.  than  by  the  young  lady  be 
side  him. 

"Dearest  Lydia,  how  nice  you  can  be  when  you 
want  to  —  like  all  tyrants." 

They  had  reached  the  small  deserted  wooden  hut 
that  served  as  a  railroad  station,  and  Lydia  stopped 
the  car. 

"I  suppose  it's  silly,  but  I  wish  you  wouldn't  say 
that  —  that  I'm  a  tyrant,"  she  said  appealingly.  "I 
don't  want  to  be,  only  so  often  I  know  I  know  better 
what  ought  to  be  done.  This  afternoon,  for  instance, 
wasn't  it  much  better  for  us  all  to  play  outside  instead 
of  in  that  stuffy  little  room  of  Eleanor's  ?  Was  that 
being  a  tyrant  ?" 

"Yes,  Lydia,  it  was ;  but  I  like  it.  All  I  ask  is  a 
little  tyrant  in  my  home." 


26  MANSLAUGHTEK 

She  sighed  so  deeply  that  he  leaned  over  and  kissed 
her  cool  cheek. 

"Good-by,  my  dear,"  he  said. 

The  kiss  did  not  go  hadly.  He  had  done  it  as  if, 
though  not  sure  of  success,  he  was  not  adventuring 
on  absolutely  untried  ground. 

"I  think  you'd  better  not  do  that*  Bobby." 

"Do  you  hate  it  ?" 

"Not  particularly,  only  I  don't  want  you  to  get 
dependent  on  it." 

He  laughed  as  he  shut  the  car  'door.  The  light  of 
the  engine  was  visible  above  the  low  woods  to  their 
left 

"I'll  take  my  chances  on  that,"  he  said. 

As  she  drove  away  she  felt  the  injustice  of  the 
world.  Everyone  did  ask  your  advice ;  they  did  want 
you  to  take  an  interest,  but  they  complained  when  this 
interest  led  you  to  exert  the  slightest  pressure  on  them 
to  do  what  you  saw  was  best.  That  was  so  illogical. 
You  couldn't  give  a  person  advice  that  was  any  good 
unless  you  entered  in  and  made  their  problem  yours, 
and  of  course  if  you  did  that  —  only  how  few  people 
except  herself  ever  did  it  for  their  friends  —  then  you 
were  concerned,  personally  concerned  that  they  should 
follow  your  advice.  They  were  all  content,  too,  she 
thought,  when  her  tyranny  worked  out  for  their  good. 
Bobby,  for  instance,  had  not  complained  of  her  having 
forced  the  Emmonses  to  ask  him  for  Sunday.  He 
thought  that  commendable.  Perhaps  the  Emmonses 


' 


MANSLAUGHTEE  27 

hadn't.  And  yet  how  much  better  to  be  clear.  She 
did  not  want  to  go  and  spend  Sunday  with  anyone 
unless  she  could  be  sure  of  having  someone  to  amuse 
her.  Suppose  she  had  gone  there  and  found  that  like 
Benny  they  were  using  her  to  entertain  some  of  their 
dull  friends.  That  would  have  made  her  angry.  She 
might  have  been  disagreeable  and  broken  up  a  friend 
ship.  This  way  it  was  safe. 

She  did  not  get  home  until  half  past  seven,  and 
ehe  was  dining  at  eight,  fifteen  minutes'  drive  away. 

A  pleasant  smell  of  roses  and  wood  smoke  greeted 
jier  as  she  entered  the  house.  She  loved  her  house, 
with  the  broad  shingles  and  classic  pilasters  of  the 
front  still  untouched.  Ten  years  ago  her  father  had 
bought  it  —  a  nice  old  farmhouse  with  an  ornamental 
band  running  round  it  below  the  eaves  and  a  perfect 
little  porch  before  the  door.  Since  then  she  had  been 
becoming  more  and  more  attached  to  it  as  it  became 
more  and  more  the  work  of  her  own  creation.  She 
had  added  whatever  she  needed  without  much  regard 
to  the  effect  of  the  whole  —  a  large  paneled  room, 
English  as  much  as  anything,  an  inner  garden  sug 
gestive  of  a  Spanish  patio,  a  tiled  Italian  hall  and  a 
long  servant's  wing  that  was  nothing  at  all. 

She  put  her  head  in  the  dining  room,  where  Miss 
Bennett  in  a  stately  tea  gown  was  just  beginning  a 
solitary  dinner. 

"Hello,  Benny !  Have  a  good  dinner.  I  forgot  to 
tell  you  I'm  going  to  the  Emmonses  for  Sunday,  so  if 


28  MANSLAUGHTER 

you  want  to  ask  someone  down  to  keep  you  company, 
do.  I'm  going  to  be  late  for  dinner." 

Miss  Bennett  smiled  and  nodded,  recognizing  this 
as  a  peace  demonstration.  Fourteen  years  had  taught 
Jier  that  Lydia  was  not  without  generosity. 

Fourteen  years  ago  this  coming  winter  the  Thornes 
had  entered  Miss  Bennett's  life.  Old  Joe  Thome  had 
come  by  appointment  to  her  little  New  York  apart 
ment.  The  appointment  had  been  made  by  a  friend 
of  Miss  Bennett's  —  Miss  Bennett's  friends  were  al 
ways  looking  for  something  desirable  for  her  in  those 
days.  Her  family,  who  had  been  identified  with  New 
York  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  had  gradually  de 
clined  in  fortune  until  the  panic  of  1893  had  almost 
?wiped  out  the  little  fortune  of  Adeline  and  her 
mother,  the  last  of  the  family.  Adeline  had  been 
brought  up,  not  in  luxury  but  in  a  comfortable,  unal 
terable  feminine  idleness.  She  had  always  had  all  the 
clothes  she  needed  to  go  about  among  the  people  she 
knew,  and  they  were  the  people  who  had  everything. 
The  Bennetts  had  never  kept  a  carriage,  but  they  had 
never  stinted  themselves  in  cabs.  The  truth  was  they 
had  never  stinted  themselves  in  anything  that  they 
really  wanted.  And  Adeline,  when  she  found  herself 
alone  in  the  world  at  thirty,  with  an  income  of  only  a 
few  thousand,  continued  the  family  tradition  of  hav 
ing  what  she  wanted.  She  took  a  small  apartment, 
which  she  contrived  to  make  charming,  and  she  lived 
micely  by  the  aid  of  her  old  French  nurse,  who  came 


MANSLAUGHTER  29; 

and  cooked  for  her  and  dressed  her  and  turned  her1 
out  as  perfectly  as  ever.  She  continued  to  dine  out 
every  night,  and  though  nominally  she  spent  her  sum 
mers  in  New  York  as  an  economy,  she  was  always  on 
somebody's  yacht  or  in  somebody's  country  house. 
She  paid  any  number  of  visits  and  enjoyed  life  more 
than  most  people. 

Her  friends,  however,  for  she  had  the  power  of 
creating  real  attachments,  were  not  so  well  satisfied. 
At  first  they  were  persuaded  that  Adeline  would 
marry  —  it  was  so  obviously  the  thing  for  Adeline  to 
do  —  but  she  was  neither  designing  nor  romantic. 
She  lacked  both  the  reckless  emotion  which  may  lead: 
one  to  marry  badly  and  the  cold-blooded  determina 
tion  to  marry  well. 

She  was  just  past  forty  the  day  Joe  Thome  came. 
She  could  still  see  him  as  he  entered  in  his  blue  over 
coat  with  a  velvet  collar.  A  big  powerful  man  with 
prominent  eyes  like  Bismarck's,  and  a  heavy  dark 
brown  mustache  bulging  over  his  upper  lip.  He  did 
not  expect  to  give  much  time  to  the  interview.  He 
had  come  to  see  if  Miss  Bennett  would  do  to  bring  up 
his  daughter,  who  at  ten  years  was  giving  him  trouble. 
He  wanted  her  prepared  for  the  social  opportunities 
he  intended  her  to  have.  It  seemed  strange  to  him 
that  a  person  who  lived  as  simply  as  Miss  Bennett 
could  really  have  these  social  opportunities  in  her 
control,  but  he  had  been  advised  by  people  whom  he 
trusted  that  such  was  the  fact,  and  he  accepted  it. 


'SO  MAJSTSLAUGHTEE 

He  was  the  son  of  a  Kansas  farmer,  had  left  the 
farm  as  a  boy  and  settled  in  a  small  town,  and  had 
learned  the  trade  of  bricklaying.  By  hard  work  he 
gradually  amassed  a  few  hundred  dollars,  and  this  he 
invested  in  a  gravel  bank  just  outside  the  town.  It 
was  the  only  gravel  bank  in  the  neighborhood  and 
brought  him  a  high  return  on  the  money.  Then  just 
as  the  gravel  was  exhausted  the  town  began  to  spread 
in  that  direction,  and  Thome  was  arranging  to  level 
his  property  and  sell  it  in  building  lots,  when  a  still 
more  unexpected  development  took  place.  Oil  was 
struck  in  the  neighborhood,  and  beneath  Thome's 
gravel  lay  a  well. 

If  Fate  had  intended  him  to  be  poor  she  should 
never  have  allowed  him  to  make  his  first  thousand 
dollars,  for  from  the  moment  he  had  any  surplus 
everything  he  touched  did  well.  In  one  of  his  trips 
to  the  Louisiana  oil  district  he  met  and  married  a 
local  belle,  a  slim,  pale  girl  with  immense  dark- 
circled  black  eyes  and  a  skin  like  a  gardenia.  She 
followed  him  meekly  about  the  country  from  oil  wells 
to  financial  centers  until  after  the  birth  of  her  daugh 
ter.  Then  she  settled  down  in  Kansas  City  and 
waited  his  rare  visits.  The  only  inconsiderate  thing 
she  had  ever  done  to  him  was  to  die  and  leave  him 
with  an  eight-year-old  daughter. 

For  several  stormy  years  he  tried  various  solu 
tions  —  foreign  governesses  who  tried  to  marry  him, 
American  college  girls  who  attempted  to  make  him 


MANSLAUGHTER  51 

take  his  fair  share  of  parental  responsibility,  an  old 
cousin  who  had  been  a  school  teacher  and  dared  to 
criticize  his  manner  of  life.  At  last  his  enlarging 
affairs  brought  him  to  New  York  and  he  heard  of 
Miss  Bennett.  He  heard  of  her  through  Wiley,  his 
lawyer.  Wiley,  a  man  in  the  forties,  then  attaining 
preeminence  at  the  bar  in  New  York,  had  been 
thought  by  many  people  to  be  an  ideal  husband  for 
Adeline.  They  were  old  friends.  He  admired  her, 
wished  her  well,  and  thought  of  her  instantly  when 
his  new  client  applied  to  him  for  help. 

The  minute  Thorne  saw  Miss  Bennett  he  saw  that 
she  would  do  perfectly.  He  made  her  the  offer  of  a 
good  salary.  He  couldn't  believe  that  she  would  re 
fuse  it.  She  could  hardly  believe  it  herself,  for  she 
was  unaccustomed  to  setting  up  her  will  against  any 
one's  least  of  all  against  a  man  like  Joe  Thorne,  who 
had  successfully  battled  his  way  up  against  the  will 
of  the  world.  The  contest  went  on  for  weeks  and 
weeks.  Poor  Miss  Bennett  kept  consulting  her 
friends,  almost  agreeing  to  go  when  she  saw  Thorne, 
and  then  telephoning  him  that  she  had  changed  her 
mind,  and  bringing  him  round  to  her  apartment  — 
which  was  just  what  she  didn't  want  —  to  argue  her 
into  it  again. 

Some  of  her  friends  opposed  her  going  to  the  house 
of  a  widower  whose  reputation  in  regard  to  women 
was  not  spotless.  Others  thought  —  though  they  did 
not  say  —  that  if  she  went,  and  succeeded  in  marry- 


32  MANSLAUGHTEK 

ing  him,  she  would  be  doing  better  than  she  had  any 
right  to  expect.  Perhaps  if  Miss  Bennett  could  have 
fallen  in  love  with  Ljdia  she  might  have  yielded,  but 
even  at  ten,  Lydia,  a  black-eyed  determined  little 
person,  inspired  fear  more  than  love. 

Poor  Adeline  grew  pale  and  thin  over  the  struggle. 
At  last  she  decided,  after  due  consultation  with 
friends,  to  end  the  matter  by  being  a  little  bit  rude, 
by  telling  Thome  that  she  just  didn't  like  the  whole 
prospect ;  that  she  preferred  her  own  little  place  and 
her  own  little  life. 

"Like  it  —  like  this  cramped  little  place  ?"  he  said, 
looking  about  at  the  sunshine  and  chintz  and  potted 
daisies  of  her  cherished  home.  "But  I'd  make  you 
comfortable,  give  you  what  you  ought  to  have  — 
Europe,  your  friends,  your  carriage,  everything." 

He  went  on  to  argue  with  her  that  she  was  wrong, 
utterly  wrong  to  like  her  own  life.  Her  last  card 
xlidn't  win.  She  yielded  at  last  for  no  better  reason 
than  that  her  powers  of  resistance  were  exhausted. 

Thorne  was  then  living  in  a  house  on  a  corner  of 
upper  Fifth  Avenue,  with  a  pale-pink  brocade  ball 
room  running  across  the  front  and  taking  all  the 
morning  sunshine,  and  a  living  room  and  library  at 
the  back  so  dark  that  you  couldn't  read  in  it  at  mid 
day,  with  marble  stairs  and  huge  fire-places  that 
didn't  draw — a  terrible  house.  Some  years  later, 
under  Miss  Bennett's  influence,  he  had  bought  the 
more  modest  house  in  the  Seventies  where  Lydia  now 


MA1STSLAUGHTEK  33 

spent  her  winters.  But  it  was  to  the  Fifth  Avenue 
house  that  Miss  Bennett  came,  and  found  herself 
plunged  into  one  of  the  most  desperate  struggles  in  the 
world.  Thorne,  whose  continuous  interest  was  given 
to  business,  attempted  to  rule  Lydia  in  crises  —  by 
scenes,  scenes  of  a  violence  that  Miss  'Bennett  had 
never  seen  equaled.  As  it  turned  out,  her  coming 
weakened  Thome's  power;  not  that  she  wasn't  usu 
ally  on  his  side  —  she  was  —  but  she  was  an  audi 
ence,  and  Thorne  had  some  sense  of  shame  before  an 
audience,  while  Lydia  had  none  at  all. 

Many  a  time  she  had  seen  him  box  Lydia's  ears 
and,  mild  as  she  was,  had  been  glad  to  see  him  do  it. 
But  it  was  his  violence  that  undid  him.  It  was  then 
that  Lydia  became  suddenly  dignified  and,  unbroken, 
contrived  to  make  him  appear  like  a  brute. 

There  is  nothing  really  more  unbreakable  than  a 
child  who  considers  neither  her  physical  well-being 
nor  public  opinon.  An  older  person,  however  vio 
lent,  has  learned  that  he  must  consider  such  questions,, 
and  it  is  a  weakness  in  a  campaign  of  violence  to  con 
sider  anything  but  the  desired  end. 

And  on  the  whole  Thorne  lost.  He  could  make 
Lydia  do  or  refrain  from  doing  specific  acts  —  at 
least  he  could  when  he  was  at  home.  He  had  not  per 
mitted  her  at  ten  to  keep  her  great  Danes  nor  at 
thirteen  to  drive  a  high-stepping  hackney  in  a  red- 
wheeled  cart  which  she  ordered  for  herself  without 
consultation  with  anyone. 


34  MANSLAUGHTER 

The  evening  after  that  struggle  was  over  he  had 
asked  Miss  Bennett  to  marry  him.  She  knew  why 
he  did  it.  Lydia  in  the  course  of  the  row  had  referred 
to  her  as  a  paid  companion.  He  had  long  been  con 
sidering  it  as  a  sensible  arrangement,  particularly  in 
'case  of  his  death.  Miss  Bennett  refused  him.  She 
tried  to  think  that  she  had  been  tempted  by  his  offer, 
but  she  was  not.  To  her  he  seemed  a  violent  man  who 
had  been  a  bricklayer,  and  she  always  breathed  a  sigh 
of  relief  when  he  was  out  of  the  house.  She  was  glad 
that  he  did  not  press  the  point,  but  in  after  years  it 
was  a  solid  comfort  to  her  to  remember  that  she  might 
have  been  Lydia's  stepmother  if  she  had  chosen. 

But  it  was  in  the  long-drawn-out  contest  that 
Thorne  failed.  He  could  not  make  Lydia  keep  gov 
ernesses  that  she  didn't  like.  Her  method  was 
simple  —  she  made  their  lives  so  disagreeable  that 
nothing  could  make  them  stay.  He  never  succeeded 
in  getting  her  to  boarding  school,  though  he  and  Miss 
Bennett,  after  a  long  conference,  decided  that  that  was 
the  thing  to  do.  But  that  failure  was  partly  due  to 
Lis  failing  health. 

That  was  their  last  great  struggle.  He  died  in 
1912.  In  his  will  he  left  Miss  Bennett  ten  thousand 
a  year,  with  the  request  that  she  stay  with  his  daugh- 
er  until  her  marriage.  It  touched  Miss  Bennett  that 
he  should  have  seen  that  she  could  not  have  stayed  if 
she  had  been  dependent  on  Lydia's  capricious  will. 
It  was  this  that  made  her  position  possible  —  the  fact 


MANSLAUGHTER  35 

that  they  both  knew  she  could  go  in  an  instant  if  she 
wanted ;  not  that  she  ever  doubted  that  Lydia  was  sin- 
perel^  attached  to  her. 


OHiPTEK  III 

^T"T  T  H  KN"  Lydia  ran  upstairs  to  dress  everything 
\\f      was  waiting  for  her  —  the  lights  lit,  the  fires 
crackling,  her  bath  drawn,  her  underclothes 
and  stockings  folded  on  a  chair,  her  green-and-gold 
dress  spread  out  upon  the  bed,  her  narrow  gold  slip 
pers  standing  exactly  parallel  on  the  floor  beside  it, 
and  in  the  midst  Evans,  like  a  priestess  waiting  to 
serve  the  altar  of  a  goddess,  was  standing  with  her 
eyes  on  the  clock. 

Lydia  snatched  off  her  hat,  rumpled  her  hair  witK 
both  hands  as  Evans  began  to  undo  her  blouse.  She 
unfastened  the  cuff,  and  then  looked  up  with  pale 
startled  eye& 

"Your  bracelet,  miss?" 

"Bracelet  ?"  For  a  second  Lydia  had  realty  for 
gotten  it. 

"The  little  diamond  bracelet.  You  were  wearing  it 
this  afternoon." 

Something  panic-stricken  and  excited  in  the  girl's 
tone  annoyed  Lydia. 

"I  must  have  droppe'd  it,"  she  said. 

The  maid  gave  a  little  cry  as  if  she  herself  had  suf 
fered  a  loss. 

36 


MANSLAUGHTER  37 

"Oh,  to  lose  a  valuable  bracelet  like  that !" 

"If  I  don't  mind  I  don't  see  why  YOU  should, 
Evans." 

Evans  began  unhooking  her  skirt  in  silence. 

Twenty  minutes  later  she  was  being  driven  rap 
idly  toward  the  Piers'.  These  minutes  were  among 
the  most  contemplative  of  her  life,  shut  in  for  a  few 
seconds  alone  without  possibility  of  interruption. 
!N~ow  as  she  leaned  back  she  thought  how  lonely  her 
life  was  —  always  facing  criticism  alone.  Was  she 
a  bully,  as  Ilseboro  had  said  ?  Perhaps  she  was  hard. 
But  then  how  could  you  get  things  done  if  you  were 
soft?  There  was  Benny.  Benny,  with  many  excel 
lent  abilities,  was  soft,  and  look'  where  she  was  —  a 
paid  companion  at  fifty-five.  Lydia  suspected  that 
ten  years  before  her  father  had  wanted  to  marry 
Benny,  and  Benny  had  refused.  Lydia  thought  she 
knew  why  —  because  Benny  thought  old  Joe  Thome 
a  vulgar  man  whom  she  didn't  love.  Yery  high- 
minded,  of  course,  and  yet  wasn't  there  a  sort  of  weak 
ness  in  not  taking  your  chance  and  putting  through  a 
thing  like  that  ?  Wouldn't  Benny  be  more  a  person 
from  every  point  of  view  if  she  had  decided  to  marry 
the  old  man  for  his  money?  If  she  had  she'd  have 
been  his  widow  now,  and  Lydia  a  dependent  step 
daughter.  How  she  would  have  hated  that ! 

The  Piers  had  built  a  perfect  French  chateau,  and 
had  been  successful  in  changing  the  scrubby  woods 
into  gardens  and  terraces  and  groves.  Lydia  stepped 


38  MANSLAUGHTER 

out  of  the  car  an'd  paused  on  the  wide  marble  steps, 
[wrapping  her  cloak  ,about  her  with  straight  arms,  as 
an  Indian  wraps-  his.  ^blanket  about  him.  She  turned 
her  head  slightly  at  her  chauffeur's  inquiry  as  to  the 
hour  of  her  return. 

"Oh,"  she  said/  "eight  — ten  —  bridge.  Come 
back  at  eleven. 

The  mirro-rs  in  the  Piers'  dressing  room  were  flat 
tering  as  she  dropped  her  cloak  with  one  swift  motion 
into  the  hands  of  the  waiting  servant  and  saw  a  reflec 
tion  of  her  slim  gold-and-green  figure  with  the  emerald 
band  across  her  forehead. 

She  saw  at  a  glance  on  entering  the  drawing-room 
that  it  wasn't  a  very  good  party  —  only  eight,  and 
nothing  much  in  the  line  of  bridge  players.  She 
listened  temperately  to  Fanny  Piers'  explanation, 
that  four  people  had  given  out  since  six  o'clock.  She 
nodded,  admitting  the  excuse  and  reserving  the  opin 
ion  that  if  the  Piers  gave  better  parties  people 
wouldn't  chuck  them  so  often. 

She  looked  about.  There  was  Tim  Andrews  again. 
Well,  she  could  always  amuse  herself  well  enough 
with  Tim.  May  Swayne  —  a  soft  blond  creature 
whom  Lydia  had  known  for  many  years  and  ignored. 
Indeed,  May  was  as  little  aware  of  Lydia's  methods 
as  a  mole  of  a  thunderstorm.  Then  there  was  Hamil 
ton  Gore,  the  lean  home  wrecker  of  a  former  genera 
tion,  not  bad  —  a  little  elderly,  a  little  too  epigram 
matic  for  the  taste  of  this  day ;  but  still,  once  a  home 


MANSLAUGHTER  39 

wrecker  always  a  home  wrecker.  He  was  still  stim 
ulating.  The  last  time  she  had  talked  to  him  he  had 
called  her  a  sleek  black  panther.  That  always  pleases, 
of  course.  Since  then  Fanny  Piers,  a  notable  mis 
chief-maker,  had  repeated  something  else  he  said.  He 
had  called  her  a  futile  barbarian.  She  disliked  the 
"futile."  She  would  take  it  up  with  him;  that 
would  amuse  her  if  everything  else  failed.  She  would 
say,  "Hello,  Mr.  Gore!  I  suppose  you  hardly  ex 
pected  to  meet  a  barbarian  at  dinner  —  especially  a 
futile  one."  It  would  make  Fanny  wretched,  but  then 
if  Fanny  would  repeat  things  she  must  expect  to  get 
into  trouble. 

And  then,  of  course,  there  was  Eleanor's  new  best 
bet  —  the  intensely  interesting  and  absolutely  worth 
while  young  man.  Lydia  looked  about,  and  there  he 
was.  Dear  me,  she  thought,  he  certainly  was  inter 
esting  and  worth  while,  but  not  quite  from  the  point 
of  view  Eleanor  had  suggested  —  public  service  and 
political  power.  He  was  very  nice  looking,  tall  and 
heavy  in  the  shoulders.  He  was  turned  three-quarters 
from  her  as  she  made  her  diagnosis.  She  could  see 
little  more  than  his  mere  size,  the  dark  healthy 
brown  of  a  sunburned  Anglo-Saxon  skin,  and  the 
Seep  point  at  the  back  of  his  neck  where  short  thick 
hair  grew  in  a  deep  point.  Eleanor,  looking  small 
beside  him,  was  staring  idly  before  her,  not  attempt 
ing  to  show  him  off.  There  was  nothing  cheap  about 
Eleanor.  She  spoke  to  him  now,  preparing  to  intro- 


£0  MANSLAUGHTER 

duce  him  to  her  friend.  Lydia  saw  him  turn,  and 
their  eyes  met  —  the  queerest  eyes  she  had  ever  seen. 
She  found  herself  staring  into  them  longer  than  good 
manners  allowed;  not  that  Lydia  cared  much  about 
good  manners,  but  she  did  not  wish  to  give  the  man 
the  idea  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him  at  first  sight ; 
only  it  just  happened  that  she  had  never  seen  eyes 
before  that  flared  like  torches,  grew  dark  and  light 
and  small  and  large  like  a  cat's,  only  they  weren't 
the  color  of  a  cat's,  being  gray  —  a  pure  light  gray  in 
contrast  with  his  dark  hair  and  skin.  There  was  a 
contrast  in  expression  too.  They  were  a  little  mad, 
at  least  fanatical,  whereas  his  mouth  was  controlled 
and  legal  and  humorus.  What  was  it  Bobby  had  said 
about  him  in  college  —  a  wild  man  ?  She  could  well 
believe  it.  During  these  few  seconds  Eleanor  was  in 
troducing  him,  and  she  was  casting  about  for  some 
thing  to  say  to  him.  That  was  the  trouble  with  meet 
ing  new  people  —  it  was  so  much  easier  to  chatter  to 
old  friends.  Benny  said  that  was  provincial.  She 
made  a  great  effort 

"How  are  you  ?"  —  this  quite  in  the  Ilseboro  man 
ner.  "Are  you  staying  near  here  ?" 

You  might  have  counted  one-two  before  he  betrayed 
the  least  sign  of  having  heard  her.  Then  he  said, 
"Yes,  I  live  about  ten  miles  from  here." 

"Oh,  of  course !  You're  a  judge  or  something  like 
that,  aren't  you  f" 

Was  the  man  a  little  deaf  ? 


MANSLAUGHTER  41 

"Something  like  that." 

She  noted  that  trick  of  pausing  a  second  or  two 
before  answering.  Ilsehoro  had  had  it  too.  It  was 
rather  effective  in  a  way.  It  made  the  other  person 
wonder  if  what  he  had  said  was  foolish.  He  wasn't 
deaf  a  bit  —  quite  the  contrary. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  what  you  are  ?"  she 
said. 

He  shook  his  head  gravely.  Then  her  eye  fell  on 
Gore  standing  at  her  elbow  and  she  couldn't  resist 
the  temptation.  She  turned  her  back  on  Eleanor's 
discovery. 

"Hullo,  Mr.  Gore !  Did  you  expect  to  meet  a  bar 
barian  at  dinner  —  especially  a  futile  one  ? 

Gore,  unabashed,  took  the  whole  room  in. 

"Now,"  he  said  in  his  high-pitched  voice,  "could 
anything  be  more  barbarous  than  that  attack?  Oh, 
yes,  I  said  it ;  and  what's  worse,  I  think  it,  my  dear 
young  lady  —  I  think  it !" 

She  turned  back  to  O'Bannon. 

"Would  you  think  I  was  a  barbarian  ?" 

"Certainly  not  a  futile  one,"  he  answered. 

They  went  in  to  dinner.  It  was  a  fixed  principle 
of  Fanny  Piers'  life  to  put  her  women  friends  next 
to  their  own  young  men,  so  that  Eleanor  found  her 
self  next  to  O'Bannon  at  dinner.  He  was  on  his 
hostess'  right,  Gore  on  her  left,  then  Lydia  and  Tim 
and  May  and  Piers,  and  Eleanor  again.  The  ar 
rangement  suited  Lydia  very  well.  She  went  on  bait- 


42  MANSLAUGHTEK 

ing  Gore.  It  suited  Eleanor  even  better.  She  had 
known  Noel  Piers  far  too  long  to  waste  any  time 
talking  to  him,  and  as  this  was  the  arrangement  he 
preferred,  they  were  almost  friends.  This  left  her 
free  to  talk  to  O'Bannon.  Her  native  ability,  joined 
to  her  personal  interest  in  him,  made  her  familiar 
with  every  aspect  of  his  work.  He  talked  shop  to 
her  and  loved  it.  He  was  telling  her  of  a  case  in 
which  labor  unions,  with  whose  aims  he  himself  as 
an  individual  was  in  sympathy,  had  made  themselves 
amenable  to  the  law.  That  was  one  of  the  penalties 
of  a  position  like  his.  Piers  caught  a  few  words  and 
leaned  over. 

"Well,  I'm  pretty  liberal,"  he  said  —  that  well- 
known  opening  of  the  reactionary  —  "but  I'm  not  in' 
favor  of  labor." 

"Not  even  for  others,  Noel,"  said  Eleanor,  who  did 
not  want  to  be  interrupted. 

"I  mean  labor  unions,"  replied  Piers,  who,  though 
not  without  humor  in  its  proper  place,  had  too  much 
difficulty  in  expressing  an  idea  to  turn  aside  to  laugh 
about  it.  "I  hope  you'll  be  firm  with  those  fellows, 
O'Bannon.  I  hope  you're  not  a  socialist  like  Elea 
nor." 

Piers  had  used  the  word  "socialist"  as  a  hate  word, 
and  expected  to  hear  O'Bannon  repudiate  the  sugges 
tion  as  an  insult.  Instead  he  denied  it  as  a  fact. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I'm  not  a  socialist.  I  think  you'll 
find  lawyers  conservative  as  a  general  thing.  I  be- 


MANSLAUGHTEK  43 

licve  in  my  platform  —  the  equal  administration  of 
the  present  laws.  That's  radical  enough  —  for  the 
present.7' 

Piers  gave  a  slight  snort  Everyone,  he  said,  be 
lieved  in  that. 

"I  don't  find  they  do  —  it  isn't  my  experience," 
answered  O'Bannon.  "Some  fellows  broke  up  a  so 
cialist  meeting  the  other  evening  in  New  York,  and 
no  one  was  punished,  although  not  only  were  people 
injured,  but  even  property  was  damaged."  Eleanor 
was  the  only  person  who  caught  the  "even."  "You 
know  very  well  that  if  the  socialists  broke  in  on  a 
meeting  of  well-to-do  citizens  they  would  be  sent  up 
the  river." 

Piers  stared  at  his  guest  with  his  round,  bloodshot 
eyes.  He  was  a  sincere  man,  and  stupid.  He  reached 
his  conclusions  by  processes  which  had  nothing  to  do 
with  thought,  and  when  someone  talked  like  this  — 
attacking  his  belief  that  it  was  wrong  to  break  up 
his  meetings  and  right  to  break  up  the  other  man's  — 
he  felt  as  he  did  at  a  conjurer's  performance:  that 
it  was  all  very  clever,  but  a  sensible  person  knew  it 
was  a  trick,  even  though  he  could  not  explain  how  it 
was  done. 

"I'm  not  much  good  at  an  argument,"  he  said, 
"but  I  know  what's  right.  I  know  what  the  country 
needs,  and  if  you  show  favoritism  to  these  disloyal 
fellows  I  shall  vote  against  you  next  time,  I  tell  you 
frankly." 


'44  MANSLAUGHTEK 

Lydia,  hearing  by  the  tones  that  the  conversation 
across  the  table  promised  more  vitality  than  her  wan 
ing  game  with  Gore  about  the  barbarian  epithet, 
dropped  her  own  sentence  and  answered,  "No  one 
really  believes  in  equality  who's  on  top.  I  believe 
in  special  privilege." 

O'Bannon,  who  had  been  contemptuously  annoyed 
with  Piers,  was  amused  at  Lydia's  frankness  as  she 
bent  her  head  to  look  at  him  under  the  candle  shades 
and  the  light  gleamed  in  her  eyes  and  flashed  on  the 
emeralds  on  her  forehead.  Beauty,  after  all,  is  the 
greatest  special  privilege  of  all. 

"That's  what  I  said,"  he  returned.  ""No  one  hon 
estly  believes  in  my  platform  —  the  equal  administra 
tion  of  the  present  laws." 

"I  do,"  said  Piers.     "I  do  —  everyone  does." 

O'Bannon  glanced  at  him,  and  deciding  that  it 
wasn't  worth  while  to  take  him  round,  the  circle 
again  let  the  sentence  drop. 

"Do  you  believe  in  it  yourself,  Mr.  O'Bannon?" 
asked  Lydia,  and  she  stretched  out  a  slim  young  arm 
and  moved  the  candle  so  that  she  could  look  straight 
at  him  or  he  at  her.  "I  mean,  if  you  caught  some 
friend  smuggling  —  me,  for  example  —  would  you  be 
as  implacable  as  if  you  caught  my  dressmaker  ?" 

"More  so;  you  would  have  less  excuse." 

She  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"You  know  in  your  heart  it  never  works  like  that." 

"Unfortunately,"  he  answered,  "my  office  does  not 


MA1STSLAUGHTEK  45 

take  me  into  Federal  customs,  or  yon  might  find  I 
was  right." 

"The  administration  of  the  customs  of  the  United 
States/'  Piers  began,  but  his  wife  interrupted. 

"Don't  explain  it,  there's  a  dear,"  she  said,  and 
oddly  enough  he  didn't. 

Lydia  was  delighted  with  O'Bannon's  challenging 
tone. 

"I  wish  you  were,"  she  said,  "because  I  know  you 
would  turn  out  to  be  just  like  everyone  else.  Or  even 
if  you  are  a  superman,  Mr.  O'Bahnon,  you  couldn't 
JDG  sure  all  your  underlings  were  equally  noble." 

"What  you  mean  is  that  you  habitually  bribe  cus 
toms  inspectors." 

"No,"  said  Lydia,  as  one  suprised  at  her  own  mod 
eration  —  "no,  I  don't,  for  I  never  much  mind  pay 
ing  duty;  but  if  I  did  mind  —  well,  I  must  own  I 
have  bribed  other  officers  of  the  law  with  very  satis 
factory  results." 

O'Bannon,  looking  at  her  under  the  shades,  thought 
—  and  perhaps  conveyed  his  thought  to  her  —  that 
she  could  bribe  him  very  easily  with  something  more 
desirable  than  gold.  It  was  Gore  who  began  care 
fully  to  point  out  to  her  the  risk  run  by  the  taker  of 
the  bribe. 

"You  did  not  think  of  him,  my  dear  young  lady." 

"Yes,  I  did,"  answered  Lydia.  "He  wanted  the 
money  and  I  wanted  the  freedom.  It  was  nice  for 
both  of  us."  She  glanced  at  O'Bannon,  who  was 


46  MLOTSLAUGHTEK 

talking  to  Mrs.  Piers  as  if  Lydia  didn't  exist.  She 
felt  no  hesitation  in  interrupting. 

"You  couldn't  put  me  in  prison  for  that,  could  you, 
Mr.  O'Bannon?" 

"No,  I'm  afraid  not,"  said  O'Bannon,  and  turned 
back  to  Fanny  Piers. 

After  dinner  she  told  Eleanor  in  strict  confidence 
the  story  of  the  bicycle  policeman,  and  made  her 
promise  not  to  tell  O'Bannon. 

"I  shouldn't  dream  of  telling  anyone,"  said  Eleanor 
,with  her  humorous  lift  of  the  eyebrows.  "I  think  it's 
a  perfectly  disgusting  story  and  represents  you  at 
your  worst." 

When  they  sat  down  to  bridge  Lydia  drew  O'Ban 
non,  and  whatever  antagonism  had  flashed  out  be 
tween  them  at  dinner  disappeared  in  a  perfectly  ad 
justed  partnership.  They  found  they  played  very 
much  the  same  sort  of  game;  they  understood  one 
another's  makes  and  leads,  and  knew  as  if  by  magic 
the  cards  that  the  other  held.  It  seemed  as  if  they 
could  not  mistake  each  other.  They  were  both  coura 
geous  players,  ready  to  take  a  chance,  without  over 
bidding.  They  knew  when  to  be  silent,  and,  with  an 
occasional  bad  hand,  to  wait.  But  the  bad  hands  were 
few.  They  had  the  luck  not  only  of  holding  high  cards 
but  of  holding  cards  which  invariably  supported  each 
other.  Their  eyes  met  when  they  had  triumphantly 
doubled  their  opponents'  bids;  they  smiled  at  each 
other  when  they  had  won  a  slam  by  a  subtle  finesse 


MANSLAUGHTER  47. 

or  by  patiently  forcing  discards.  Their  winnings 
were  large.  Lydia  seemed  as  steady  as  a  rock  —  not 
a  trace  of  excitement  in  her  look. 

O'Bannon  thought,  after  midnight  when  he  was 
totaling  the  score,  "I  could  make  a  terrible  fool  of 
myself  about  this  girl." 

When  they  were  leaving  he  found  himself  standing 
on  the  steps  beside  her.  The  footman  had  run  down 
the  drive  to  see  why  her  chauffeur,  after  a  wait  of 
more  than  an  hour,  wasn't  bringing  her  car  round. 
O'Bannon,  who  was  driving  himself  in  an  open  car, 
came  out,  turning  up  the  collar  of  his  overcoat,  and 
found  himself  alone  with  her  in  the  pale  light  of  the 
waning  moon,  which  gave,  as  the  waning  moon  always 
does,  the  effect  of  being  a  strange,  unfamiliar  celestial 
visitor. 

O'Bannon,  like  so  many  strict  supporters  of  law, 
was  subject  to  invasions  of  lawless  impulses.  He 
thought  now  how  easy  it  would  be  to  run  off  with  a 
girl  like  this  one  and  teach  her  that  civilization  was 
not  such  a  complete  protection  as  she  thought  it. 
What  an  outcry  she  would  make,  and  yet  perhaps 
she  wouldn't  really  object !  He  had  a  theory  that  men 
and  women  were  more  susceptible  to  emotion  in  the 
first  minutes  of  their  meeting  than  at  any  subsequent 
time  —  at  least  in  such  first  meetings  as  this. 

She  was  standing  wrapping  her  black-and-silver 
cloak  about  her  with  that  straight-armed  Indian  pose. 

"It's  a  queer  light,  isn't  it  ?"  she  said. 


.48  MANSLAUGHTEK 

He  agreed.  Something  certainly  was  queer  —  the 
greenish  silver  light  on  the  withered  leaves  or  the 
mist  like  a  frothy  flood  on  the  lawn.  Just  as  she 
spoke  two  brighter  lights  shone  through  the  mist  — 
her  car  coming  up  the  drive  with  the  footman  stand 
ing  on  the  step. 

"Is  that  yours?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded,  knowing  that  he  was  watching  her. 

"Why  don't  you  send  it  away,"  he  went  on  very 
quietly,  "and  let  me  drive  you  home  ?  This  is  no 
night  for  a  closed  car." 

He  hardly  knew  whether  he  had  a  plan  or  not, 
but  his  pulses  beat  more  quickly  as  she  walked  down 
the  steps  without  answering  him.  He  did  not  know 
whether  she  was  going  to  get  into  her  car  and  drive 
away  or  give  orders  to  the  man  to  go  home  without 
her.  Then  he  saw  that  the  footman  was  closing  the 
door  on  an  empty  car  and  the  chauffeur  releasing  his 
brake.  When  she  came  up  the  steps  he  was  looking 
at  the  moon. 

"I  never  get  used  to  its  waning,"  he  said,  as  if  he 
had  been  thinking  of  nothing  else. 

She  liked  that  —  his  not  commenting  in  any  way 
on  her  accepting  an  invitation  not  entirely  conven 
tional  from  a  stranger.  Perhaps  he  did  not  know 
that  it  wasn't.  Oh,  if  he  could  only  keep  on  like 
that —  maintaining  that  remote  impersonality  until 
she  herself  wanted  him  to  be  different!  But  if  he 
wrapped  the  lap  robe  about  her  with  too  lingering  an 


MA^SLAUGHTEK  49 

arm,  or  else,  flying  to  the  other  extreme,  began  to  be 
friendly  and  chatty,  pretending  that  there  was  noth 
ing  extraordinary  in  two  strangers  being  alone  like 
this  in  a  sleeping,  moonlit  world 

He  did  neither.  When  he  brought  the  car  to  the 
steps  the  lap  robe  was  folded  back  on  the  seat  so 
that  she  could  wrap  it  about  her  own  knees.  She  did 
so  with  an  exclamation.  The  mist  clung  in  minute 
drops  to  its  rough  surface. 

"It's  wet,"  she  said. 

He  did  not  answer  —  did  not  speak  even,  when  as 
they  left  the  Piers'  place  it  became  necessary  to  choose 
ttieir  road.  He  chose  without  consultation. 

"But  do  you  know  where  I  live  ?"    she  asked. 

"Be  content  for  once  to  be  a  passenger,"  he  re 
plied. 

The  answer  had  the  good  fortune  to  please.  She 
leaned  back,  clasping  her  hands  in  her  lap,  relaxing 
all  her  muscles. 

On  the  highroad  she  was  less  aware  of  the  moon, 
for  the  headlights  made  the  mist  visible  like  a  wall 
about  them.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  running  througH 
a  new  element  and  could  detect  nothing  outside  the  car. 
'She  was  detached  from  all  previous  experience,  con 
tent  to  be,  as  he  had  said,  for  once  a  passenger.  This 
was  a  new  sensation.  She  remembered  what  Use- 
boro  had  said  about  her  being  a  bully.  Well,  she'd  try 
the  other  thing  to-night.  She  only  hoped  it  wouldn't' 
end  in  some  sort  of  a  scene.  She  glanced  up  at  her 


50  MAJSTSLAUGHTEK 

companion's  profile.  It  looked  quiet  enough,  but  she 
decided  that  she  had  better  not  go  on  much  longer 
without  making  him  speak.  Her  ear  was  well  at 
tuned  to  human  vibrations,  and  if  there  were  a  cer 
tain  low  tremor  in  his  voice  —  well,  then  it  would  be 
better  to  go  straight  home. 

"This  is  rather  extraordinary,  isn't  it?"  she  said. 
This  might  be  interpreted  in  a  number  of  ways. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  he  said,  exactly;  matching  her  tone. 

She  tried  him  again. 

"Did  you  enjoy  the  evening?"  It  seemed  almost 
certain  that  he  would  answer  tenderly,  "I'm  enjoy 
ing  this  part  of  it" 

"It  was  good  bridge,"  he  said. 

That  sounded  all  right,  she  thought.  His  voice 
was  as  cool  as  her  own.  She  could  let  things  go  and 
give  herself  up  to  enjoying  the  night  and  the  moon 
and  the  motion  and  the  damp  air  on  her  face  and 
arms.  She  felt  utterly  at  peace.  Presently  he  turned 
from  the  highroad  down  a  lane  so  untraveled  that  the 
low  branches  came  swishing  into  her  lap ;  they  came 
out  on  a  headland  overlooking  the  Sound.  Over  the 
water  the  mist  was  only  a  thickening  of  the  atmos 
phere  which  made  the  lights  of  a  city  across  the  water 
look  like  globes  of  yellow  light  in  contrast  to  the  clear 
red  and  white  of  a  lighthouse  in  the  foreground.  He 
leaned  forward  and  turned  off  the  engine  and  lights. 

Lydia  found  that  she  was  trembling  a  little,  which 
seemed  strange,  for  she  felt  unemotional  and  still. 


MANSLAUGHTEE  51 

And  then  all  of  a  sudden  she  recognized  that  she  was 
really  waiting  —  waiting  to  feel  her  cheek  against  his 
rough  frieze  coat  and  his  lips  against  hers.  It  was  not 
exactly  that  she  wanted  it,  but  that  it  was  inevitable 
• — simple  —  not  her  choice  —  something  that  must 
be.  This  was  an  experience  that  she  had  never  had 
before.  In  the  silence  she  felt  their  mutual  under 
standing  rising  like  a  tide.  She  had  never  felt  so  at 
one  with  any  human  being  as  with  this  stranger. 

Suddenly  he  moved  —  but  not  toward  her.  She 
saw  with  astonishment  that  he  was  turning  the  switch, 
touching  the  self  starter,  and  the  next  instant  back 
ing  the  car  out.  The  divine  moment  was  gone.  She 
would  never  forgive  him. 

They  drove  back  in  silence,  except  for  her  occa 
sional  directions  about  the  road.  Her  jaw  was  set 
like  a  little  vise.  Never  again,  she  was  saying  to 
herself,  would  she  allow  herself  to  be  a  passenger. 
Hereafter  she  would  control.  It  didn't  matter  what 
happened  to  you,  if  you  were  master  of  your  own. 
emotions.  She  remembered  once  that  the  husband  of 
a  friend  of  hers  had  caught  her  in  his  arms  in  thq 
anteroom  of  a  box  at  the  opera  during  the  darkness 
of  a  Wagnerian  performance.  She  had  felt  like 
frozen  steel  —  so  sure  of  herself  that  she  hardly  hated 
the  man  —  she  felt  more  inclined  to  laugh  at  him. 
[But  this  man  who  hadn't  touched  her,  left  her  feel 
ing  outraged,  humiliated  —  because  she  had  wanted 
him  to  kiss  her,  to  crush  her  to  him 


52  MANSLAUGHTER 

They  were  at  her  door.  She  stepped  out  on  the 
broad  flat  stones,  under  the  trellis  on  which  the 
grapevines  grew  so  thickly  that  not  even  the  flood  of 
moonlight  could  penetrate  the  thick  mass  of  verdure. 
The  air  was  full  of  the  smell  of  grapes.  She  knew  he 
was  following  her.  Suddenly  she  felt  his  hand,  firm 
and  confident  on  her  shoulder,  stopping  her,  turning 
her  round.  She  did  not  resist  him  —  she  felt  neither 
resistent  nor  acquiescent  —  only  that  it  was  all  in 
evitable.  He  took  her  head  in  his  two  hands,  looking 
in  the  dark  and  half  drawing  her  to  him,  half  bend 
ing  down  he  pressed  his  lips  hard  against  hers.  She 
felt  herself  held  closely  in  his  arms;  her  will  dis 
solved,  her  head  drooped  against  him. 

Then  inside  the  house  the  steps  of  the  faithful 
Morson  could  be  heard.  He  must  have  been  waiting 
for  the  sound  of  an  approaching  motor.  The  door 
opened  —  letting  a  great  patch  of  yellow  lamp  light 
fall  on  the  misty  moonlight.  Morson  peered  out ;  for 
a  moment  he  thought  he  must  have  been  mistaken; 
there  appeared  to  be  no  one  there.  Then  his  young 
mistress,  very  erect,  stepped  out  from  the  shadow.; 
A  tall  gentleman,  a  stranger  to  Morson,  said  in  a 
voice  noticeably  low  and  vibrant : 

"At  four  to-morrow." 

There  was  a  pause.  Morson  holding  the  door 
open  thought  at  first  that  Miss  Thome  had  not  heard, 
and  then  she  shocked  him  by  her  answer. 

"No,  don't  come,"  she  said.    "I  don't  want  you  to 


MANSLAUGHTER  53 

feome."  She  walked  into  the  house,  and  indicated 
that  he  might  shut  the  door.  As  he  bolted  it  he  could 
hear  the  motor  moving  away  down  the  drive.  Turn 
ing  from  the  door,  he  saw  Miss  Thome  standing  still 
in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  as  if  she  too  were  listening 
to  the  lessening  drum  of  the  engine.  There  was  a 
long  pause,  and  then  Morson  said : 

"Shall  I  put  out  the  lights,  Miss  ?" 

She  nodded  and  went  slowly  upstairs,  like  a  per 
son  in  a  trance. 

She  seemed  hardly  aware  of  Evans  waiting  to  un 
dress  her,  hut  stood  still  in  her  bedroom,  as  she  had 
stood  in  the  hall,  staring  blankly  in  front  of  her. 
Evans  took  her  cloak  from  her  shoulder. 

"It's  quite  wet,  Miss,"  she  said,  "as  if  it  had  been 
flipped  in  the  sea  and  your  hair,  too." 

Miss  Thome  did  not  come  to  life,  until  in  unhook 
ing  her  dress  Evans  touched  her  with  cold  fingers. 
iThen  she  started,  exclaiming: 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Evans,"  she  cried. 
"Do  go  and  put  your  hands  in  hot  water  before 
you  touch  me.  Your  fingers  are  like  ice." 

The  girl  murmured  that  she  had  been  upset  since 
the  loss  of  the  bracelet  —  she  felt  responsible  for  Miss 
Thome's  jewels. 

Lydia  flung  down  the  roll  of  bills  and  cheques  that 
represented  her  evening's  winnings.  "I  could  buy 
myself  another  wilji  what  I've  won  to-night.  Don't 
worry  about  it."  The  idea  occurred  to  her  that  she 


54:  MANSLAUGHTER 

[would  buy  herself  a  sort  of  memento  morl,  something 
to  remind  her  not  to  be  a  weak  craven  female  thing 
again  —  nestling  against  men's  shoulders  like  May 
Swayne. 

Evans  did  not  answer,  but  gathered  up  the  money 
and  the  jewels  and  carried  them  into  the  (dressing 
room  to  Jock  them  in  the  safe. 


CHAPTEE  IVj 

LYDIA  would  have  been  displeased  to  know; 
how  little  her  curt  refusal  affected  the  emo 
tional  state  of  the  man  driving  away  from  her 
floor.  It  was  the  deed  rather  than  the  word  that  he 
remembered  —  the  fact  that  he  had  held  a  beautiful 
and  eventually  unresisting  woman  in  his  arms  that 
occupied  his  attention  on  his  way  home. 

He  -found  his  mother  sitting  up  —  not  for  him.  It 
iwas  many  years  since  Mrs.  O'Bannon  had  gone  to  bed 
before  two  o'clock.  She  was  a  large  woman,  mas 
sive  rather  than  fat.  She  was  sitting  by  the  fire  in 
her  bedroom,  wrapped  in  a  warm,  loose  white  dress 
ing  gown,  as  white  as  her  hair  and  smooth  p-ale  skin. 
Her  eyes  retained  their  deep  darkness.  Evidently: 
Dan's  gray  eyes  had  come  from  his  father's  Irish 
ancestry. 

It  was  only  the  other  day  —  after  he  was  grown 
up  —  that  O'Bannon  had  ceased  to  be  afraid  of  his 
mother.  She  was  a  woman  passionately  religious, 
mentally  vigorous  and  singularly  unjust,  or  at  least 
inconsistent.  It  was  this  quality  that  made  her  so 
confusing  and,  to  her  subordinates,  alarming.  She 

would  have  gone  to  the  stake  —  gone  with  a  certain 

H 


56  MAJSrSLAUGHTEK 

bitter  amusement  at  the  folly  of  her  destroyers  —  for 
her  belief  in  the  right;  but  her  affections  could  en 
tirely  sweep  away  these  beliefs  and  leave  her  furiously 
supporting  those  she  loved  against  all  moral  princi 
ples.  Her  son  had  first  noticed  that  trait  when  she 
sent  him  away  to  boarding  school.  His  mother  —  his 
father  had  died  when  he  was  seven  —  was  a  most 
relentless  disciplinarian  as  long  as  a  question  of  duty 
lay  between  him  and  her;  but  let  an  outsider  inter 
fere,  and  she  was  always  on  his  side.  She  frequently 
defended  him  against  the  school  authorities,  and  even, 
it  seemed  to  him,  encouraged  him  in  rebellion.  In 
her  old  age  most  of  her  strong  passions  had  died  away 
and  left  only  her  God  and  her  son.  Perhaps  it  was 
a  trace  of  this  persecutory  religion  in  her  that  made 
Dan  accept  his  present  office. 

She  looked  up  like  a  sibyl  from  the  great  volume  she 
;was  reading. 

"You're  late,  my  son." 

"I've  been  gambling,  mother." 

He  said  it  very  casually,  but  it  was  the  last  rem 
nant  of  his  fear  that  made  him  mention  particularly 
those  of  his  actions  of  which  he  knew  she  would  dis 
approve.  In  old  times  he  had  been  a  notable  poker 
player,  but  had  abandoned  it  on  his  election  >as  dis 
trict  attorney.  Her  brow  contracted. 

"You  should  not  do  such  things  —  in  your 
position." 

"My  dear  mother,  haven't  you  yet  grasped  that 


MAJSTSLAUGHTEK  57 

there  is  a  touch  of  the  criminal  in  all  criminal  pros 
ecutors?  That's  what  draws  us  to  the  job." 

She  wouldn't  listen  to  any  such  theory. 

"Have  you  lost  a  great  deal  of  money  ?"  she  asked 
severely. 

"Not  enough  to  turn  us  out  of  the  old  home,"  he 
smiled.  "I  won  something  under  four  hundred 
dollars." 

Her  brow  cleared.  She  liked  her  son  to  be  suc 
cessful,  preeminent  in  anything  —  right  or  wrong  — 
which  he  undertook. 

"You  made  a  mistake  to  get  mixed  up  with  people 
like  that,"  she  said.  She  knew  where  he  had  been 
dining. 

"I  can't  be  said  to  have  got  mixed  up  with  them. 
The  only  one  I  expressed  any  wish  to  see  again 
slammed  the  door  in  my  face." 

The  next  instant  he  wished  he  had  not  spoken.  He 
hoped  his  mother  had  not  noticed  what  he  said.  She 
(remained  silent,  but  she  had  understood  perfectly, 
and  he  had  made  for  Lydia  an  implacable  enemy. 
A  woman  who  slammed  the  door  in  the  face  of  Dan 
was  deserving  of  hell-fire,  in  Mrs.  O'Bannon's  opin 
ion.  She  did  not  ask  who  it  was,  because  she  knew 
that  in  the  course  of  everyday  life  together  secrets 
between  two  people  are  impossible  and  the  name 
would  come  out. 

After  an  almost  sleepless  night  he  woke  in  the 
morning  with  the  zest  of  living  extraordinarily  r«- 


58  MANSLAUGHTEK 

newed  within  him.  Every  detail  in  the  pattern  of 
life  delighted  him,  from  the  smell  of  coffee  floating  up 
from  the  kitchen  on  the  still  cold  of  the  November 
morning  to  the  sight  from  his  window  of  the  village 
children  in  knit  caps  and  sweaters  hurrying  to  school 
—  tall,  lanky,  competent  girls  bustling  their  little 
brothers  along,  and  inattentive  boys  hoisting  small 
sisters  up  the  school  steps  by  their  arms.  Life  was 
certainly  great  fun,  not  because  there  were  lovely 
women  to  be  held  in  your  arms,  but  because  when 
young  and  vigorous  you  can  bully  life  into  being 
what  you  want  it  to  be.  And  yet,  good  heavens,  what 
a  girl !  At  four  that  very  afternoon  he  would  see  her 
again. 

He  was  in  court  all  the  morning.  The  courthouse, 
which  if  it  had  been  smaller  would  have  looked  like 
a  mausoleum  in  a  cemetery,  and  if  it  had  been  larger 
would  have  looked  like  the  Madeleine,  was  set  back 
from  the  main  street.  The  case  he  was  prosecuting  — 
a  case  of  criminal  negligence  against  a  young  driver 
of  a  delivery  wagon  who  had  run  over  and  injured  a 
prominent  citizen  —  went  well ;  that  is  to  say,  O'Ban- 
non  obtained  a  conviction.  It  had  been  one  of  those 
cases  clear  to  the  layman,  for  the  young  man  was  no 
toriously  careless;  but  difficult,  as  lawyers  tell  you 
criminal-negligence  cases  are,  from  the  legal  point 
of  view. 

O'Bannon  came  out  of  court  very  well  satisfied 
both  with  himself  and  the  jury  and  drove  straight  to 


MANSLAUGHTEK  59 

the  Thorne  house.  The  smell  of  the  grapes  started 
his  pulses  beating.  Morson  came  to  the  door.  !N"o, 
Miss  Thorne  was  not  at  home. 

"Did  she  leave  any  message  for  me  ?"  said  O'Ban- 
non. 

"Nothing,  sir,  except  that  she  is  not  at  home." 

He  eyed  Morson,  feeling  that  he  would  be  within 
his  masculine  rights  if  he  swept  him  out  of  the  way, 
and  went  on  into  the  house;  but  tamely  enough  he 
turned  and  drove  away.  His  feelings,  however,  were 
not  tame.  He  was  furious  against  her.  How  did 
she  dare  behave  like  this  —  driving  about  the  country 
tat  midnight,  gambling,  letting  him  kiss  her,  and  then 
ordering  her  door  slammed  in  his  face  as  if  he  were 
a  book  agent?  Civilization  gave  such  women  too 
much  protection.  Perhaps  the  men  she  was  accus 
tomed  to  associating  with  put  up  with  that  kind  of 
treatment,  but  not  he.  He'd  see  her  again  if  he 
wanted  to  —  yes,  if  he  had  to  hold  up  her  car  on  the 
highroad. 

He  thought  with  approval  of  Eleanor,  a  woman  who 
played  no  tricks  with  you  but  left  you  cool  and  braced 
like  a  cold  shower  on  a  hot  day.  Yet  he  found  that 
that  afternoon  he  did  not  want  to  see  Eleanor.  He 
drove  on  and  on,  steeping  himself  in  the  bitterness  of 
his  resentment. 

At  dinner  his  mother  noticed  his  abstraction  and 
feared  an  important  case  was  going  wrong.  After 
wards,  supposing  Ke  wanted  to  think  out  some  tangle 


60  MANSLAUGHTER 

of  the  law,  she  left  him  alone  —  not  meditating,  but 
seething. 

The  next  morning  at  half  past  eight  he  was  in  his 
office.  The  district  attorney's  office  was  in  an  old 
brick  block  opposite  the  courthouse.  It  occupied  the 
second  story  over  Mr.  Wooley's  hardware  shop.  As 
he  went  in  he  saw  Alma  Wooley,  the  fragile  blond 
daughter  of  his  landlord,  slipping  in  a  little  late  for 
her  duties  as  assistant  in  the  shop.  She  was  wrapped 
in  'a  light-blue  cloak  the  color  of  her  transparent 
turquoise-blue  eyes.  She  gave  O'Bannon  a  pretty 
little  sketch  of  a  smile.  She  thought  his  position  a 
great  one,  and  his  age  extreme  —  anyone  over  thirty 
was  ancient  in  her  eyes.  She  was  profoundly  grate 
ful  to  him,  for  he  had  given  her  fiance  a  position 
on  the  police  force  and  made  their  marriage  a  possi 
bility  at  least. 

"How  are  things,  Alma  ?"  he  said. 

"Simply  wonderful,  thanks  to  you,  Mr.  O'Ban 
non,"  she  answered. 

He  went  upstairs  thinking  kindly  of  all  gentle 
blond  women.  In  the  office  he  found  his  assistant, 
Foster,  the  son  of  the  local  high-school  teacher,  a 
keen-minded  ambitious  boy  of  twenty-two. 

"Oh,"  said  Foster,  "the  sheriff's  been  telephoning 
for  you.  He's  at  the  Thornes'." 

O'Bannon  felt  as  if  his  ears  had  deceived  him. 

"Where?"  he  asked  sternly. 

•"At  the  Themes'  house  —  you  know,  there's  a  Miss 


MANSLAUGHTEK  61 

Thome  who  lives  there  —  the  daughter  of  old  Joe  S. 
Thorne."  Then,  seeing  the  "blank  look  on  his  chief's 
face,  Foster  explained  further.  "It  seems  there  was  a 
jewel  robhery  there  last  night  —  a  million  dollars' 
worth,  the  sheriff  says."  He  smiled,  for  the  sheriff 
was  a  well-known  exaggerator,  but  he  met  no  an 
swering  smile.  "They've  been  telephoning  for  you 
to  come  over." 

"Who  has  ?"  said  O'Bannon. 

Poster  thought  him  unusually  slow  of  understand 
ing  this  morning,  and  answered  patiently,  "Miss 
Thorne  has.  There's  been  a  robbery  there." 

The  district  attorney  was  not  slow  in  action. 

"I'll  go  right  over,"  he  said,  and  left  the  office. 

There  were  some  advantages  in  holding  public 
office.  You  could  be  sent  for  in  your  official  capac 
ity  —  and  stick  to  it,  by  heaven ! 

This  time  he  asked  no  questions  at  the  door,  but 
entered. 

Morson  said  timidly*  "Who  shall  I  say,  sir?" 

"Say  the  district  attorney." 

Morson  led  the  way  to  the  drawing-room  and  threw 
open  the  door. 

"The  district  attorney,"  he  announced,  making  it 
sound  like  a  itle  of  nobility,  and  O'Bannon  and 
Lydia  stood  face  to  face  again  —  or  rather  he  stood. 
She,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  nodded  an  adequate 
enough  greeting  to  a  public  servant  in  the  perform- 


;62  MANSLAUGHTEK 

ance  of  his  duty.  They  were  not  alone  —  a  slim  gray- 
haired  lady,  Miss  Bennett,  was  named. 

"I  understood  at  my  office  you  had  sent  for  me," 
said  he. 

"I  !"  There  was  something  wondering  in  her  tone. 
"Oh,  yes,  the  sheriff,  1  believe,  wanted  you  to  come. 
All  my  jewels  were  stolen  last  night.  He  seemed  to 
think  you  might  be  able  to  do  something  about  it." 
Her  tone  indicated  that  she  did  not  share  the  sheriff's 
optimism.  Miss  Bennett,  with  a  long  habit  of  count 
eracting  Lydia's  manners,  broke  in. 

"So  kind  of  you  to  come  yourself,  Mr.  O'Bannon." 

"It's  my  job  to  come." 

"Yes,  of  course.  I  think  I  know  your  mother." 
She  was  very  cordial,  partly  because  she  felt  some 
thing  hostile  in  the  air,  partly  because  she  thought 
him  an  attractive-looking  young  man.  "She's  so  help 
ful  in  the  village  improvement,  only  we're  all  just 
a  little  afraid  of  her.  Aren't  you  just  a  little  afraid 
of  her  yourself?" 

"Very  much,"  he  answered  gravely. 

Miss  Bennett  wished  he  wouldn't  just  stare  at  her 
with  those  queer  eyes  of  his  —  a  little  crazy,  she 
thought.  She  liked  people  to  smile  at  her  when  they 
spoke.  She  went  on,  "Not  but  what  we  work  all  the 
better  for  her  because  we  are  a  little  afraid " 

Lydia  interrupted. 

"Mr.  O'Bannon  hasn't  come  to  pay  us  a  social  visit, 


MANSLAUGHTER  63 

Benny,"  she  said,  and  this  time  there  was  something 
unmistakably  insolent  in  her  tone. 

O'Bannon  decided  to  settle  this  whole  question  on 
the  instant  He  turned  to  Miss  Bennett  and  said 
firmly,  "I  should  like  to  speak  to  Miss  Thome  alone." 

"Of  course,"  said  Miss  Bennett,  already  on  her 
way  to  the  door,  which  O'Bannon  opened  for  her. 

"No,  Benny,  Benny !"  called  Lydia,  but  O'Bannon 
had  shut  the  door  and  leaned  his  shoulders  against 
it. 

"Listen  to  me !"  he  said.  "You  must  be  civil  to 
me  —  that  is,  if  you  want  me  to  stay  here  and  try 
to  get  your  jewels  back." 

Lydia  wouldn't  look  at  him. 

"And  what  guaranty  have  I  that  if  you  'do  stay  you 
can  do  anything  about  it  ?" 

"I  think  I  can  get  them,  and  I  can  assure  you  the 
sheriff  can't."  There  was  a  long  pause.  "Well  ?"  he 
said. 

"Well  what  ?"  said  Lydia,  who  hadn't  been  able  to 
think  what  she  was  going  to  do. 

"Will  you  be  civil,  or  shall  I  go  ?" 

"I  thought  you  just  said  it  was  your  duty  to  stay." 

"Make  up  your  mind,  please,  which  shall  it  be  ?" 

Lydia  longed  to  tell  him  to  go,  but  she  did  want  to 
get  her  jewels  back,  particularly  as  she  was  setting 
out  for  the  Emmonses'  in  a  few  minutes,  and  it  would 
save  a  lot  of  trouble  to  have  everything  arranged  be 
fore  she  left.  She  thought  it  over  deliberately,  and 


64:  MANSLAUGHTEK 

looking  up  saw  that  lie  was  amused  at  her  cold- 
Wooded  hesitation.  Seeing  him  smile,  she  found  to 
her  surprise  that  suddenly  she  smiled  back  at  him. 
It  was  not  what  she  had  intended. 

"Well,"  she  thought,  "let  him  think  he's  getting  the 
best  of  me.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  using  him." 

She  hoped  he  would  be  content  with  the  smile,  but, 
no,  he  insisted  on  the  spoken  word.  She  was  forced  to 
say  definitely  that  she  would  be  civil.  She  carried 
it  off,  in  her  own  mind  at  least,  by  saying  it  as  if 
it  were  a  childish  game  he  was  playing.  Having  re 
ceived  the  assurance,  he  moved  from  the  door  and 
stood  oposite  her,  leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"!N"ow  tell  me  what  happened  ?"  he  said. 

She  told  him  how  she  had  been  waked  up  just 
before  dawn  by  the  sound  of  someone  moving  in  her 
^dressing  room.  At  first  she  had  thought  it  was  a 
window,  or  a  curtain  blowing,  until  she  had  seen  a 
fine  streak  of  light  under  the  door.  Then  she  had 
sprung  up  —  to  find  herself  locked  in.  She  had  rung 
her  bells,  pounded  on  the  door  —  finally  succeeded  in 
rousing  the  household.  The  dressing  room  was 
empty,  but  her  safe  had  been  opened  —  her  jewels 
and  about  five  hundred  dollars  gone  —  her  recent 
winnings  at  bridge. 

"You've  had  good  luck  lately  ?"  he  asked. 

"Good  partners,"  she  answered  with  one  of  her 
illuminating  smiles. 

She'd  gone  all  over  the  house  after  that.     Alone  ? 


MANSLAUGHTER  65 

IsTo.  Morson  had  tagged  on.  Morson  was  afraid  of 
burglars,  having  had  experience  with  them  in  some 
former  place.  Besides,  she  always  had  a  revolver. 
Oh,  yes,  she  knew  how  to  shoot !  She'd  gone  over  the 
whole  house  —  there  wasn't  a  lock  undone. 

He  questioned  her  about  the  servants.  Suspicion 
seemed  to  point  to  Evans,  who  had  the  run  of  the 
safefand  might  so  easily  have  failed  to  lock  it  in  the 
evening  when  she  had  put  her  mistress  to  bed.  Lydia 
demurred  at  the  idea  of  Evans'  guilt.  The  girl  had 
been  with  her  for  five  years. 

"I  don't  really  think  she  has  the  courage  to  steal," 
she  said. 

"Do  you  know  the  circumstances  of  her  life  ?  Any 
thing  to  make  her  feel  in  special  need  of  money  just 
BOW  ?"  he  inquired. 

Lydia  shook  her  head. 

"I  never  see  how  servants  spend  their  wages  any 
how,"  she  said.  "But  what  makes  me  feel  quite 
sure  it  isn't  Evans  is  that  I'm  sure  she  would  have 
confessed  to  me  when  I  questioned  her.  Instead  of 
that  she's  been  packing  my  things  for  me  just  as 
usual." 

0'B;annon  cut  the  interview  short  by  announcing 
that  he'd  see  the  sheriff.  Lydia  had  expected  — 
"dreaded"  was  her  own  word  —  that  he  would  say 
something  about  the  incidents  of  their  last  meeting. 
But  he  didn't.  He  left  the  room,  saying  as  he  went : 
"You'll  wait  here  until  I've  had  a  talk  with  the  girl." 


66  MANSLAUGHTEK 

His  tone  had  a  rising  inflection  of  a  question  in 
it,  but  to  Lydia  it  sounded  like  an  order.  She  had 
liad  every  intention  of  waiting,  but  now  she  began  to 
contemplate  the  possibility  of  leaving  at  once.  The 
car  was  at  the  door  and  her  bags  were  on  the  car.  How 
it  would  annoy  him,  she  thought,  if  when  he  came 
back,  instead  of  finding  her  patiently  waiting  to  be 
civil,  he  learned  that  she  had  motored  away,  as  much 
as  to  say :  "It's  your  duty  as  an  officer  of  the  law  to 
find  my  jewels,  but  it  isn't  my  duty  to  be  grateful  to 
you." 

Presently  Miss  Bennett  and  the  sheriff  came  in  to 
gether,  talking  —  ,at  least  the  sheriff  was  talking. 

"It  looks  like  it  was  her  all  right,"  he  was  saying, 
"and  if  so  he'll  get  a  confession  out  of  her.  That's 
why  I  sent  for  him.  He's  a  great  feller  for  getting 
folks  to  confess."  Then  with  natural  courtesy  he 
turned  to  Lydia.  "I  was  just  saying  to  your  friend, 
Miss  Thome,  that  O'Bannon's  great  on  getting  con 
fessions." 

"Keally  ?"  said  Lydia.     "I  wonder  why." 

"Well,"  said  the  sheriff,  ignoring  the  note  of  doubt 
in  her  wonder,  "most  criminals  want  to  confess.  It's 
a  lonely  thing  —  to  have  a  secret  and  the  whole  world 
against  you.  He  plays  on  that.  And  between  you 
and  I,  Miss  Thorne,  there's  some  of  this  so-called 
psychology  in  it.  You  see,  I  prepare  the  way  for 
him — telling  how  he  always  does  get  a  confession,  and 
how  a  confession  last  time  saved  the  defendant  from 


MA^SLAUGHTEK  67 

the  chair,  and  a  lot  of  stuff  like  that,  and  then  he 
comes  along,  and  I  guess  there's  a  little  hypnotism 
in  it  too.  Did  you  ever  notice  his  eyes  ?" 

"I  noticed  that  he  has  them,"  answered  Lydia. 

Miss  Bennett  said  that  she  had  noticed  them  at 
once,  as  soon  as  he  came  into  the  room.  Perhaps  it 
was  remembrance  of  them  that  made  her  add,  "He 
won't  be  too  hard  on  the  poor  girl,  will  he  ?" 

"No,  ma'am,  he  won't  be  hard  at  all,"  said  the 
sheriff.  "He'll  just  talk  with  her  ten  or  fifteen  min 
utes,  and  then  she'll  want  to  tell  him  the  truth.  I 
couldn't  say  how  it's  done. 

Lydia  suddenly  stamped  her  foot. 

"She's  a  fool  if  she  does !"  she  said,  biting  into  her 
words. 

So  this  young  man  went  in  for  being  a  woman 
tamer,  did  he  ?  —  the  mistress  downstairs  ordered  to 
be  civil  and  the  maid  upstairs  ordered  to  confess.  If 
she  had  time,  she  thought,  it  would  amuse  her  to  show 
him  that  things  did  not  run  so  smoothly  as  that.  She 
almost  wished  that  Evans  wouldn't  confess.  It  would 
be  worth  losing  her  jewels  to  see  his  face  when  he 
came  down  to  announce  his  failure. 

Steps  overhead,  the  door  opened,  a  voice  called, 
"Sheriff,  get  your  men  up  here,  will  you  1" 

The  sheriff's  face  lit  up. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you?"  he  said  "He's  done  it !"  He 
hurried  out  of  the  room. 

When,  a  few  minutes  later,  the  district  attorney 


;68  MANSLAUGHTER 

came  down  he  found  Miss  Bennett  alone.  He  looked 
about  quickly. 

"Where's  Miss  Thome?"  he  said. 

Miss  Bennett  had  not  wanted  Lydia  to  go  —  she 
had  urged  her  not  to.  !What  difference  did  the 
Emmonses  make  in  comparison  with  the  jewels? 
But  now  she  sprang  to  her  defense. 

"She  was  forced  to  go.  She  had  a  train  to  catch  — 
a  long-standing  engagement.  She  was  so  sorry.  She 
left  all  sorts  of  messages."  This  was  not,  strictly 
speaking,  true. 

O'Bannon  smiled  slightly. 

"She  does  not  seem  to  take  much  interest  in  the 
Recovery  of  her  jewels,"  he  said. 

"She  has  every  confidence  in  you,"  said  Miss  Ben 
nett  flatteringly. 

Miss  Bennett  herself  had.  Never,  she  thought,  had 
she  seen  a  man  who  inspired  her  with  a  more  com 
fortable  sense  of  leadership.  She  saw  he  was  not 
pleased  at  Lydia's  sudden  departure. 

He  was  not.  He  was  furious  at  her.  His  feelings 
about  her  had  flickered  up  and  down  like  a  flame.  The 
vision  of  her  going  over  her  house  alone,  her  hair 
'down  her  back  and  a  revolver  in  her  hand,  alone  — 
except  for  Morson  tagging  on  behind  —  moved  him 
with  a  sense  of  her  courage ;  and  not  only  her  courage 
but  her  lack  of  self-consciousness  about  it.  She  had 
spoken  as  if  anyone  would  have  done  the  same.  Her 
hardness  toward  the  criminal  had  repelled  him,  and 


MANSLAUGHTER  69 

when  lie  went  upstairs  to  interview  Evans  a  new  sen 
sation  waited  for  him. 

The  robbery  had  not  released  Evans  from  her  regu 
lar  duties.  She  had  just  finished  packing  Lydia's 
things  for  the  visit  to  the  Emmonses,  and  the  bed 
room  where  she  had  been  detained  had  the  disheveled 
look  of  a  room  which  had  just  been  packed  and  dressed 
in.  The  bed  had  not  been  made,  though  its  pink  silk 
cover  had  been  smoothed  over  it  to  allow  for  the  fold 
ing  of  dresses  on  it.  Lydia's  slippers  —  pink  mules 
with  an  edging  of  fur  —  were  kicked  off  beside  it. 
Long  trails  of  tissue  paper  were  on  the  floor.  O'Ban- 
non  saw  it  all  with  an  eye  trained  to  observe.  He  saw 
the  book  of  verses  on  the  table  beside  her  bed,  the  pic 
ture  of  the  good-looking  young  man  on  her  dressing 
table.  He  smelled  in  the  air  the  perfume  of  violets, 
a  scent  which  his  sense  remembered  as  having  lingered 
in  her  hair.  All  this  he  took  in  almost  before  he  saw 
the  pale,  black-clad  criminal  standing  vacantly  in  the 
midst  of  the  disorder. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said. 

He  spoke  neither  kindly  nor  commandingly,  but 
as  if  to  speak  were  the  same  thing  as  to  accomplish. 
Evans  sat  down. 

It  was  a  curious  picture  of  Lydia  that  emerged 
from  the  story  she  finally  told  him  —  a  figure  kind 
and  generous  and  careless  and  cruel,  and,  it  seemed  to 
him  above  everything  else,  stupid,  blind  about  life, 
the  lives  of  those  about  her. 


.70  MANSLAUGHTEK 

Evans  Lad  a  lover,  a  young  English  footman  who 
had  served  a  term  for  stealing  and  just  lately  got  out 
with  an  advanced  case  of  tuberculosis.  Evans,  who 
had  remained  adamant  to  temptation  when  every 
thing  was  going  well  with  him,  fell  at  the  sight  of  his 
ill  health.  She  had  attempted,  lonely  and  inefficient 
as  she  was,  to  do  the  trick  by  herself.  It  was  Lydia's 
irritation  over  Evans'  regret  at  the  loss  of  the  bracelet 
that  had  apparently  decided  the  girl. 

"If  she  was  so  glad  to  be  relieved  of  the  things  I 
thought  I'd  help  her  a  bit,"  she  said  bitterly. 

What  seemed  to  O'Bannon  so  incomprehensible  was 
that  Lydia  shouldn't  have  known  that  the  girl  was  in 
some  sort  of  trouble.  The  sight  of  the  room  made  him 
vividly  aware  of  the  intimacy  of  daily  detail  that  any 
maid  has  in  regard  to  her  mistress  —  two  women,  and 
one  going  through  hell. 

He  said  to  Miss  Bennett  after  they  had  gone  down 
stairs  again:  "Didn't  Miss  Thome  suspect  that 
something  was  going  wrong  with  the  girl  ?" 

Miss  Bennett  liked  the  district  attorney  so  much  that 
she  felt  a  strong  temptation,  under  the  mask  of  discuss 
ing  the  case,  to  pour  out  to  him  all  her  troubles  —  the 
inevitable  troubles  of  those  whose  lives  were  bound  up 
with  Lydia's  But  her  standards  of  good  manners 
were  too  rigorous  to  allow  her  to  yield. 

"No,  I'm  afraid  we  didn't  guess,"  she  answered. 
"But  now  that  we  do  know,  is  there  anything  we  can 
do  for  the  poor  thing  ?" 


MANSLAUGHTER  71 

"Not  just  now/'  tie  answered.  "The  case  is  clear 
against  her.  But  when  it  comes  to  sentencing  her  you 
could  do  something.  Anything  Miss  Thome  said  in 
her  favor  would  be  taken  into  consideration  by  the 
judge." 

"Tell  me  just  what  it  is  you  want  her  to  say," 
answered  Miss  Bennett,  eager  to  help. 

"It  isn't  what  I  want,"  O'Bannon  replied  with  some 
irritation.  "My  duty  is  to  present  the  case  against 
her  for  the  state.  I'm  telling  what  Miss  Thome  can 
do  if  she  feels  that  there  are  extenuating  circum 
stances;  if,  for  instance,  she  thinks  that  she  herself 
has  been  careless  about  her  valuables." 

"She  will,  I'm  sure,"  said  Miss  Bennett  with  more 
conviction  than  she  felt,  "because,  between  you  and 
me,  Mr.  O'Bannon,  she  is  careless.  She  lost  a  beauti 
ful  little  bracelet  the  other — !but  when  you're  as 
young  and  lovely  and  rich  as  she  is " 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  district  attorney's  rather 
fcurt  good-by. 

"Do  you  want  to  drive  back  with  me,  sheriff  ?" 

The  sheriff  did,  and  jumping  in  he  murmured  as 
they  drove  down  the  road:  "She  is  all  that.  She's 
easy  to  look  at  all  right.  She's  handsome,  and  yet 
not  —  not  what  I  should  call  womanly.  Look  out  at 
the  turn.  There's  a  hole  as  you  get  into  the  main 
road." 

"Yes,  I  know  about  it,"  said  O'Bannon. 


CHAPTEK  m 

WHEN"  Lydia  came  back  from  tlie  Emmonses 
late  Monday  afternoon  she  brought  Bobby 
Dorset  with  her.  Miss  Bennett,  who  was 
arranging  Morson's  vases  of  flowers  according  to  her 
more  fastidious  ideas,  heard  them  come  in,  as  noisy; 
and  high-spirited,  she  thought,  as  a  couple  of  puppies. 
Lydia  was  so  busy  giving  orders  to  have  Bobby's  room 
got  ready  and  to  have  Eleanor  telephoned  to  come  over 
to  dinner  in  case  they  wanted  to  play  bridge,  and 
sending  the  car  for  her,  because  Eleanor  was  so  near 
sighted  she  couldn't  drive  herself,  and  always  let  her 
chauffeur  go  home,  and  he  had  no  telephone  —  so  in 
competent  of  Eleanor  —  that  Miss  Bennett  had  no 
chance  to  exchange  a  word  with  her.  Besides,  the 
poor  lady  was  taken  up  with  the  horror  of  the  ap 
proaching  bridge  game.  She  liked  a  mild  rubber  now 
and  then,  but  not  with  Lydia,  who  scolded  her  after 
each  hand,  remembering  every  play. 

Lydia,  who  was  almost  without  physical  or  moral 
timidity,  was  always  fighting  against  a  subconscious 
horror,  a  repulsion  rather  than  a  fear,  that  life  was 
just  a  futile,  gigantic,  patternless  confusion,  a  tale  told 
by  an  idiot,  signifying  nothing,  which  is  the  horror 

72  *" 


MANSLAUGHTER  73 

of  all  materialists.  When  she  walked  into  her  bed 
room  and  found  her  things  laid  out  just  as  usual,  and 
a  new  maid  —  a  Frenchwoman,  brown  and  middle- 
aged  and  competent  —  waiting  for  her,  just  as  Evans 
had  waited,  one  of  her  moods  of  deep  depression  en 
gulfed  her,  just  as  those  who  fear  death  are  sometimes 
brought  to  a  realization  of  its  approach  by  some  every 
day  symbol.  Lydia  did  not  fear  death,  but  sometimes 
she  hated  life.  She  never  asked  if  it  were  her  own 
relation  to  life  that  was  unsatisfactory. 

"When  she  came  downstairs  in  a  tea  gown  of  orange 
and  brown  chiffon  no  one  but  Bobby  noticed  that  her 
high  spirits  had  all  evaporated. 

At  table,  before  Morson  and  the  footman,  no  one 
mentioned  the  subject  of  the  robbery,  but  when  they 
were  back  in  the  drawing-room  Miss  Bennett  intro 
duced  it  by  asking:  "Did  the  new  woman  hook  you 
upright?  Will  she  do,  dear ?" 

Lydia  shrugged  her  shoulders,  not  stopping  to  think 
that  Miss  Bennett  had  spent  one  whole  day  in  intelli 
gence  offices  and  a  morning  on  the  telephone  in  her 
effort  to  replace  Evans. 

The  older  woman  was  silenced  by  the  shrug  —  ncrt 
hurt,  but  disappointed  —  and  in  the  silence  Bobby 
said :  "Oh,  what  happened  about  Evans  ?  They  took 
her  away  ?" 

Lydia  answered,  with  a  contemptuous  raising  of 
ter  chin,  "She  confessed  —  she  always  was  a  goose." 

"That  didn't  prove  it,"  returned  Miss  Bennett  with 


74  MANSLAUGHTER 

spirit.  "It  was  the  wisest  thing  to  do.  The  district 
attorney  —  my  dear  girls,  if  I  were  your  age,  and 
that  man " 

"Look  out !"  said  Lydia.  "He's  a  great  friend  of 
Eleanor's." 

"Of  Eleanor?"  exclaimed  Miss  Bennett.  She  was 
not  and  never  had  been  a  vain  woman,  but  she  was 
always  astonished  at  men  caring  for  a  type  of  fem 
ininity  different  from  her  own.  She  liked  Eleanor, 
but  she  thought  her  dry  and  unattractive,  and  she 
didn't  see  what  a  brilliant,  handsome  creature  like 
O'Bannon  could  see  in  her.  "Is  he,  really  ?" 

"Yes,  he  is/'  said  Eleanor  coolly.  Experience 
had  taught  her  an  excellent  manner  in  this  situa* 
tion. 

"I  wish  you  had  waited,  Lydia,"  Miss  Bennett 
went  on.  "It  was  very  impressive  the  way  he  man 
aged  Evans,  almost  like  a  hypnotic  influence.  She 
told  him  everything.  She  seemed  to  give  herself  over 
into  his  hands.  It  was  almost  like  a  miracle.  A 
moment  before  she  had  been  so  hostile  —  a  miracle 
taking  place  right  there  in  Lydia' s  bedroom." 

Lydia,  who  had  been  bending  over  reorganizing 
,  the  fire,  suddenly  straightened  up  with  the  poter  in 
her  hand  and  said  quickly,  "Where  ?  Taking  place 
where  ?" 

"In  your  room,  dear.    Evans  was  shut  up  there." 

"That  man  in  my  room!"  said  Lydia,  and  her 
whole  face  seemed  to  blaze  with  anger. 


MANSLAUGHTER  75 

"It  never  occurred  to  me  that  you  would  object,  nrjr 
dear.  He  said  lie " 

"It  should  have  occurred  to  you.  I  hate  the  idea  — 
that  drunken  attorney  in  my  bedroom.  It's  not 
decent !" 

"Lydia !"  said  Miss  Bennett. 

Eleanor  spoke  in  a  voice  as  cold  as  steel. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  calling  Mr.  O'Bannon  a 
Drunken  attorney  ?" 

"He  drinks  —  Bobby  says  so. 

"I  did  not  say  so!" 

"Why,  Bobby,  you  did!" 

"I  said  he  used  to  drink  when  he  was  in  college." 

"Oh,  well,  a  reformed  drunkard/7  said  Lydia, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.  "I  can't  imagine  your  do 
ing  such  a  thing,  Benny,  except  that  you  always  do 
anything  that  anyone  asks  you  to  do." 

Her  tone  was  more  insulting  than  her  words,  and 
Miss  Bennett  did  the  most  sensible  thing  she  could 
think  of  —  she  got  up  and  left  the  room.  Lydia  stood 
on  the  hearthrug,  tapping  her  foot,  breathing  quickly, 
her  jaw  set. 

"I  think  Bennett's  losing  her  mind,"  she  said. 

"I  think  you  are,"  said  Eleanor.  "What  possible 
difference  does  it  make  2" 

"You  say  that  because  you're  crazy  about  this  man. 
Perhaps  if  I  were  in  love  with  him  I'd  lose  all  mVj 
sense  of  delicacy  too ;  but  as  it  is •" 

Eleanor  got  up. 


.76  MANSLAUGHTEK 

"I  think  I'll  take  my  lack  of  delicacy  home/'  she 
said.  "Tell  Morson  to  send  for  the  motor,  will  you, 
Bobby?  Good  night  Lydia.  I've  had  a  perfectly 
horrid  evening." 

"Good  night,"  said  Lydia  with  a  fierce  little  beck 
of  her  head. 

Bobby  saw  Eleanor  to  the  car,  and  sat  with  her 
some  time  in  the  hall  while  it  was  being  brought 
round. 

"ETo  one  could  blame  you  for  being  furious;  but 
you're  not  angry  at  her,  are  you,  Eleanor  ?"  he  said. 

"Of  course  I'm  angry !"  answered  Eleanor.  "She's 
too  impossible,  Bobby.  You  can't  keep  on  with  people 
who  let  you  in  for  this  sort  of  thing.  I  could  have 
had  a  perfectly  pleasant  evening  at  home  —  and  to 
come  out  for  a  row  like  this!" 

"She  doesn't  do  it  often." 

"Often!  No,  there  wouldn't  be  any  question 
then." 

"She's  been  perfectly  charming  at  the  Emmonses' — 
gay  and  friendly,  and  everyone  crazy  about  her.  And 
by  the  way,  Eleanor,  I  didn't  say  O'Bannon  was  a 
(drunkard." 

"Of  course  you  didn't,"  said  Eleanor. 

"But  he  used  to  go  on  the  most  smashing  sprees  in 
college,  and  I  told  her  about  one  of  those  and  made 
her  promise  not  to  tell." 

"A  lot  that  would  influence  Lydia," 

The  car  was  at  the  door  now,  and  as  he  put  her  iu&j 


MANSLAUGHTER  77 

it  lie  asked,  "Oh,  don't  you  feel  so  sorry  for  her  some 
times  that  you  could  almost  weep  over  her  ?" 

"I  certainly  do  not !"  said  Eleanor. 

Turning  from  the  front  door,  Bobby  ran  upstairs 
and  knocked  at  Miss  Bennett's  door.  He  found  her 
sunk  in  an  enormous  chair,  looking  very  pathetic  and 
more  like  an  unhappy  child  than  a  middle-aged 
woman. 

"It  isn't  bearable,"  she  said.  "Life  under  these 
conditions  is  too  disagreeable.  I  don't  complain  of 
her  never  noticing  all  the  little  sacrifices  one  makes  — 
all  the  trouble  one  takes  for  her  sake.  But  when  she's 
absolutely  rude  —  just  vulgarly,  grossly  rude  as  she 
was  this  evening " 

"Miss  Bennett,"  said  Bobby  seriously,  "when 
things  go  wrong  with  women  they  cry,  and  when 
things  go  wrong  with  men  they  swear.  Lydia  takes 
a  little  from  both  sexes.  These  outbursts  are  her 
equivalent  for  feminine  tears  or  masculine  profanity." 

Miss  Bennett  looked  up  at  him  with  her  starlike 
eyes  shining  with  emotion. 

"But  someone  must  teach  her  that  she  can't  behave 
like  that.  I  can't  do  it.  I  can  only  teach  by  being 
kind  —  endlessly  kind  —  and  she  can't  learn  from 
that.  So  the  best  thing  for  both  of  us  is  for  me  to 
leave  her  and  let  someone  else  try." 

Bobby  sat  down  and  took  her  thin  aristocratic  hand 
in  both  of  his. 

"No  one  can  teach  her,  dear  Benny,"  he  said.    "But 


78  MANSLAUGHTEK 

life  can  —  and  will.  That's  my  particular  night 
mare  —  that  people  like  Lydia  get  broken  by  life  — 
and  it's  always  snch  a  smash.  That's  why  I'm  con- 
tent  to  stand  by  without,  as  most  of  my  friends  think, 
due  regard  for  my  own  self-respect.  That's  why  I  do 
hope  you'll  contrive  to.  That's  why  she  seems  to  me 
the  most  pathetic  person  I  know.  She  almost  makes 
me  cry." 

''Pathetic !"  said  Miss  Bennett  with  something  ap 
proaching  a  snort. 

"Yes,  like  a  child  playing  with  a  dynamite  fuse. 
Even  to-night  she  seemed  to  me  pathetic.  She  can't 
afford  to  alienate  the  few  people  who  really  care  for 
her — you  and  Eleanor  and  —  well,  of  course,  she 
won't  alienate  me,  whatever  she  does." 

"But  she  takes  advantage  of  our  affection,"  said 
Miss  Bennett. 

Bobby  stood  up. 

"You  bet  she  does !"  he  said.  "She'll  have  some 
thing  bitter  waiting  for  me  now  when  I  go  down,  some 
thing  she'll  have  forgotten  by  to-morrow  and  I'll  re 
member  as  long  as  I  live." 

He  smiled  perfectly  gayly  and  left  the  room.  He 
found  Lydia  strolling  about  the  drawing-room,  softly 
whistling  to  herself. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "my  party  seems  to  have  broken 
up  early." 

"Broken's  the  word,"  answered  Bobby. 

"Isn't  Eleanor  absurd  ?"  said  Lydia.    "She  loves  so 


MANSLAUGHTER  79 

to  be  superior — 'Order  my  carriage' — like  the 
virtuous  duchess  in  a  melodrama." 

"She  doesn't  seem  absurd  to  me,"  said  Bobby. 

"Oh,  you've  been  tiptoeing  about  binding  up  every 
body's  wounds,  I  suppose,"  she  answered.  "Did  you 
tell  them  that  you  knew  I  didn't  mean  a  word  I  said  ? 
Ah,  yes,  I  see  you  did.  Well,  I  did  mean  every  single 
Word,  and  more.  Upon  my  word,  I  wish  you'd  mind 
your  own  business,  Bobby." 

"I  will,"  said  Bobby,  and  got  up  and  left  the  room. 

He  went  out  and  walked  quickly  up  and  down  the 
flat  stones  under  the  grape  arbor.  The  moon  was  not 
up,  and  the  stars  twinkled  fiercely  in  the  crisp  cool 
air.  He  thought  of  other  women  —  lovelier  and 
kinder  than  Lydia.  What  kept  him  in  this  bondage 
to  her  ?  All  the  time  he  was  asking  the  question  he 
was  aware  of  her  image  in  her  orange  tea  gown 
against  the  dark  woodwork  of  the  room,  and  suddenly, 
before  he  knew  it  —  certainly  before  he  had  made  any 
resolve  to  return  —  he  was  back  in  the  doorway,  say 
ing? 

"Would  you  like  to  play  a  game  of  piquet  ?" 

She  nodded,  and  they  sat  down  at  the  card  table. 
Bobby's  faint  resentment  had  gone  in  ten  minutes,  but 
it  was  longer  before  Lydia,  laying  down  her  cards, 
said,  as  if  they  had  just  been  talking  about  her  mis 
deeds  instead  of  merely  thinking  about  them,  "But 
Benny  is  awfully  obstinate,  isn't  she?  I  mean  the 
way  she  goes  on  'doing  things  the  way  she  thinks  I 


80  MANSLAUGHTEK 

ought  to  like  them  instead  of  finding  out  the  way  I 
do  like." 

"She's  very  sweet  —  Benny  is." 

"And  that's  just  what  makes  everyone  think  me  so 
terrible  —  the  contrast.  She's  sweet,  but  she  wants 
her  own  way  just  the  same.  Whereas  I " 

"You  don't  want  your  own  way,  Lydia  ?'* 

They  nearly  fought  it  out  all  over  again.  This 
time  it  was  Lydia  who  stopped  the  discussion  with  a 
Sudden  change  of  manner. 

"The  truth  is,  Bobby,"  she  said  with  an  unexpected 
gentleness,"  that  I  feel  dreadfully  about  Evans.  You 
jdon't  know  how  fond  you  get  of  a  person  who's  about 
you  all  the  time  like  that." 

"Horrid  that  they'll  rob  you,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes."  Lydia  stared  thoughtfully  before  her.  "I 
think  what  I  mind  most  is  that  she  wouldn't  tell 
me  —  kept  denying  it,  as  if  I  were  her  enemy  —  and 
then  in  the  first  second  she  confessed  to  the  district 
attorney." 

"Oh,  well,  that's  his  profession." 

She  seemed  to  think  profoundly,  and  her  next  sen 
tence  surprised  him. 

"Do  you  think  there's  anything  really  between  him 
and  Eleanor  ?  I  couldn't  bear  to  have  Eleanor  marry, 
a  man  like  that." 

Bobby,  trying  to  be  tactful,  answered  that  he  was 
sure  Eleanor  wouldn't,  but  as  often  happens  to  con 
sciously  tactful  people,  he  failed  to  please. 


MANSLAUGHTEK  81 

"Oh,"  said  Lydia,  "you  mean  that  you  think  he's 
crazy  about  her  ?" 

"Mercy,  no!"  said  Bobby.  "I  shouldn't  think 
Eleanor  was  his  type  at  all,  except  perhaps  as  a  friend 
It's  the  chorus-girl  type  that  really  stirs  him." 

"Oh,  is  it?"  said  Lydia,  and  took  up  the  cards 


They  played  two  hours,  and  the  game  calmed  her 
but  could  not  save  her  from  the  blackness  of  her  mood. 
It  came  upon  her,  as  it  always  did  if  it  were  coming, 
a  few  minutes  after  she  had  got  into  bed,  turned  out 
her  light  and  had  begun  to  discover  that  sleep  was 
not  close  at  hand.  Life  seemed  to  her  all  effort  with 
out  purpose.  She  felt  like  a  martyr  at  the  stake; 
only  she  had  no  vision  to  bear  her  company.  She 
felt  her  loneliness  to  be  not  the  result  of  anything  she 
said  or  did,  but  inevitable.  There  seemed  to  be 
nothing  in  the  universe  but  chaos  and  herself. 

She  turned  on  her  light  again  and  read  until  al 
most  morning.  Nights  like  this  were  not  unusual 
with  Lydia. 


CHAPTEK  VI 

JOE  THOKKE  had  been  fond  of  telling  a  story 
about  Lydia  in  her  childhood  —  in  the  days  be 
fore  Miss  Bennett  came  to  them.  After  some 
tremendous  scene  of  naughtiness  and  punishment,  she 
had  come  to  him  and  said:  "Father,  if  you're  not 
angry  at  me  any  more,  I'm  not  angry  at  you."  It 
was  characteristic  of  her  still.  She  was  not  afraid  to 
come  forward  and  make  up,  but  she  was  shy  with  the 
spoken  word.  She  couldn't  make  an  emotional 
apology,  but  she  managed  to  convey  in  all  sorts  of 
dumb  ways  that  she  wanted  to  be  friends  —  she  con 
trived  to  remember  some  long  ungratified  wish  of 
Benny's,  whether  it  were  a  present,  or  a  politeness  to 
some  old  friend,  or  sometimes  only  an  errand  that 
Benny  had  never  been  able  to  get  her  to  do.  There 
was  always  a  definite  symbol  that  Lydia  was  sorry, 
and  she  was  always  forgiven. 

Part  of  Eleanor's  sense  of  her  own  superiority  to 
the  world  lay  in  being  more  than  usually  impervious 
to  emotion.  Besides  she  had  expressed  herself  satis 
factorily  at  the  time  by  leaving  the  house,  so  that  she 
forgave  too.  Only  of  course  a  scene  like  that  is  never 

82 


MANSLAUGHTER  83 

without  consequences  —  everybody's  endurance  had 
snapped  a  few  more  strands  like  a  fraying  rope.  And 
there  were  consequences,  too,  in  Lydia's  own  nature. 
She  seemed  to  have  become  permanently  wrong-headed 
and  violent  on  any  subject  even  remotely  connected 
with  the  district  attorney. 

This  was  evident  a  few  days  later  when  a  voice 
proclaiming  itself  that  of  Judge  Homans'  secretary 
asked  her  if  she  could  make  it  convenient  to  stop  at 
the  judge's  chambers  that  afternoon  to  give  the  court 
some  information  in  regard  to  a  former  maid  of 
hers  —  Evans.  Lydia's  tone  showed  that  it  was  not  at 
all  convenient.  It  seemed  at  one  instant  as  if  she  were 
about  to  refuse  point-blank  to  go.  Then  she  yielded, 
and  from  that  minute  it  became  clear  that  her  mind 
was  continually  occupied  with  the  prospect  of  the 
visit. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  she  appeared  before  the 
judge's  desk  in  his  little  room,  lined  with  shelves  of 
calf-bound  volumes.  It  was  a  chilly  November  after 
noon,  and  she  had  just  come  from  tea  at  the  golf  club 
after  eighteen  holes.  She  was  wrapped  in  a  bright 
golden-brown  coat,  and  a  tomato-colored  hat  was 
pulled  down  over  her  brows. 

The  judge,  for  no  reason  ascertainable,  had 
imagined  Miss  Thome,  the  landed  proprietor,  the 
owner  of  jewels  of  value,  as  a  dignified  woman  of 
thirty.  He  looked  up  in  surprise  over  his  spectacles. 
His  first  idea  —  he  lived  much  out  of  the  world  — 


84  MANSLAUGHTEK 

was  that  a  mistake  had  been  made  and  that  an  unruly 
female  offender  had  been  brought  to  him,  not  a  com 
plaining  witness. 

Even  after  this  initial  misunderstanding  was  ex 
plained  the  interview  did  not  go  well.  The  judge 
was  a  man  of  sixty,  clean  shaven  and  of  a  waxy  hue. 
From  his  high,  narrow  brow  all  his  lines  flowed  out- 
Ward.  His  chin  was  heavy  and  deeply  creased,  and 
he  had  a  way  at  times  of  drawing  it  in  to  meet  his 
heavy,  hunched  shoulders.  A  natural  interest  in  the 
continuity  of  his  own  thought,  joined  to  fifteen  years 
of  pronouncements  from  the  bench,  rendered  him  im 
pervious  to  interruption.  He  now  insisted  on  review 
ing  the  case  of  Evans,  while  Lydia  sat  tossing  back 
first  one  side  and  then  the  other  of  her  heavy  coat 
and  thinking  —  almost  saying,  "Oh,  the  tiresome  old 
man  !  Why  does  he  tell  me  all  this  ?  Doesn't  he  know 
that  it  was  my  jewels  that  were  stolen  ?"  She  began 
to  tap  her  foot,  a  sound  which  to  those  who  knew 
Lydia  well  was  regarded  almost  as  the  rattle  of  the 
rattlesnake.  The  judge  began  to  draw  his  monologue 
to  a  close. 

"The  district  attorney  tells  me  that  you  feel  that 
there  was  some  carelessness  on  your  own  part  which 
might  be  considered  in  a  measure  as  constituting  an 
extenuating  circumstance- " 

He  got  no  further. 

"The  district  attorney  says  so  ?"  said  Lydia,  ancJ 
if  he  had  quoted  the  authority  of  the  janitor's  boy  her 


MANSLAUGHTER  85 

tone  could  not  have  expressed  more  contemptuous 
surprise. 

His  Honor,  however,  missed  it. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  "Mr.  O'Bannon  tells  me  that 
the  charge  of  your  safe,  without  supervision " 

"Mr.  O'Bannon  is  completely  misinformed,"  said 
Lydia,  shutting  her  eyes  and  raising  her  eyebrows. 

The  judge  turned  his  head  squarely  to  look  at 
her. 

"You  mean,"  he  said,  "that  you  do  not  feel  that 
there  was  any  contributory  carelessness  which  might 
in  part  explain,  without  in  any  true  sense  excus- 
ing " 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Lydia.  "And  I  have  never 
said  anything  to  anyone  that  would  make  them  think 


60." 


"I  have  been  misinformed  as  to  your  attitude,"  said 
the  judge. 

"Evidently,"  said  Lydia,  and  almost  at  once 
brought  the  interview  to  a  close  by  leaving  the  room. 

As  she  walked  down  the  path  to  her  car  a  figure 
came  out  of  the  shadow  as  if  it  had  been  waiting  for 
her.  It  was  the  same  traffic  policeman  who  had 
stopped  her  on  her  way  to  Eleanor's.  He  took  off  his 
brown  cap.  She  saw  his  round,  pugnacious  head  and 
the  uncertain  curve  of  his  mouth.  He  was  a  nice- 
looking  man,  and  younger  than  she  had  supposed  — 
quite  boyish  in  fact.  She  caught  a  glimpse  of  some 
eort  of  ribbon  on  his  breast  —  the  croix  de  guerre. 


86  MANSLAUGHTER 

She  looked  straight  at  him  with  interest,  and  saw  that 
he  was  tense  with  embarrassment. 

"I  believe  I  have  something  of  yours,"  he  said.  "I 
want  to  give  it  back."  He  was  fumbling  in  his 
pocket.  She  couldn't  really  permit  that. 

"Bribed  people,"  she  thought,  "must  be  content  to 
remain  bribed."  She  walked  rapidly  toward  her  car 
without  answering.  The  chauffeur  opened  the  door 
for  her. 

"Home,"  she  said,  and  drove  away. 

An  hour  or  so  later  the  judge  was  giving  a  descrip 
tion  of  the  interview  to  the  district  attorney.  It  began 
as  a  general  indictment  of  the  irresponsibility  of  the 
wealthy  young  people  of  to-day,  touching  on  their 
dress,  appearance  and  manners.  Then  it  descended 
suddenly  to  the  particular  case. 

"She  came  into  this  room  in  a  hat  the  color  of  a 
flamingo"  —  the  judge's  color  sense  was  not  good  — 
"and  her  skirts  almost  to  her  knees ;  as  bold  —  well,  I 
wouldn't  like  to  tell  you  what  my  first  idea  was  on 
seeing  her.  She  was  as  hard  as  —  I  could  have  told 
her  that  some  of  her  own  father's  methods  were  not 
gtrictly  legal,  only  the  courts  were  more  lenient  in 
those  days.  A  ruthless  fellow  —  Joe  Thome.  Do 
you  know  this  girl  ?" 

"I've  met  her,"  said  O'Bannon. 

"She  made  a  very  unfavorable  impression  on  me," 
said  Judge  Homans.  "I  don't  know  when  a  young 
woman  of  agreeable  appearance  —  she  has  consider- 


MANSLAUGHTER  87 

able  beauty  —  has  made  such  an  unfavorable  impres 
sion."  And  His  Honor  added,  as  if  the  two  remarks 
liad  nothing  to  do  with  each  other,  "I  shall  give  this 
unfortunate  maid  a  very  light  sentence." 

The  district  attorney  bowed.  It  was  exactly  what 
he  had  always  intended. 

But  a  sentence  which  sounded  light  to  Judge  Ho- 
mans  —  not  less  than  three  and  a  half  nor  more  than 
fifteen  years  —  sounded  heavy  to  Lydia.  She  was 
horrified.  The  recent  visit  which,  under  Mrs.  Galton's 
auspices,  she  had  paid  to  a  man's  prison  was  in  her 
mind  —  the  darkness,  the  crowded  cells,  the  pale  ab 
normal-looking  prisoners,  the  smell,  the  guards,  the 
silence.  She  simply  would  not  allow  Evans  to  spend 
fifteen  years  in  such  torture.  She  was  all  the  more 
determined  because  she  knew,  without  once  admitting 
it,  that  she  might  have  prevented  it. 

She  read  the  sentence  in  the  local  newspaper  at 
breakfast  —  she  breakfasted  in  bed  —  and  the  next 
minute  she  was  up  and  in  Miss  Bennett's  room. 

"This  is  a  little  too  much,"  she  said,  walking  in  so 
fast  that  her  silk  dressing  gown  stood  out  like  a  rose- 
colored  balloon.  "Fifteen  years!  Those  men  must 
be  mad!  Come,  Benny,  put  on  your  things.  You 
must  go  with  me  to  the  district  attorney's  office  and 
have  this  arranged.  Imagine  it !  After  her  confess 
ing  too !  I  said  she  was  wrong  to  confess." 

But  when  she  reached  the  office  she  found  no  one 
there  but  Miss  Finnegan,  the  stenographer. 


88  MANSLAUGHTEK 

"Where's  Mr.  O'Bannon?"  she  asked  as  if  she  had 
an  engagement  with  him  which  he  had  broken. 

Miss  Finnegan  raised  her  head  from  her  keys  an<j 
looked  at  the  unexpected  visitor  in  a  tomato-colored 
Jbat,  whose  feet  had  sounded  so  sharp  and  quick  on  the 
stairs  and  who  had  thrown  open  the  door  so  violently, 

"Mr.  O'Bannon's  in  court,"  she  answered  in  a  tone 
which  seemed  to  suggest  that  almost  anyone  would 
know  that.  By  this  time,  mounting  the  stairs  with 
more  dignity,  Miss  Bennett  entered,  appealing  and 
.conciliatory. 

"We  want  so  much  to  see  him,"  she  murmured. 

Miss  Finnegan  softened  and  said  that  she'd  tele 
phone  over  to  the  courthouse.  He  might  he  ahle  to  get 
over  for  a  minute.  She  telephoned  and  hung  up  tho 
receiver  in  silence. 

"When  will1  he  be  here  ?"  demanded  Lydia. 

"When  he's  at  liberty,"  Miss  Finnegan  answered 
coldly. 

Waiting  did  not  calm  Lydia  nor  the  atmosphere  of 
the  office,  which  proclaimed  O'Bannon's  power. 
People  kept  coming  in  with  the  same  question  — 
when  could  they  see  the  district  attorney?  An  old 
foreigner  was  there  who  kept  muttering  something  to 
Miss  Finnegan  in  broken  English. 

"Yes,  but  then  your  son  ought  to  plead,"  Miss 
Finnegan  kept  saying  over  and  over  again,  punctuat 
ing  her  sentence  with  quick  roulades  on  the  typewriter. 

There  was  a  thin  young  man  with  shifty  eyes,  and 


MANSLAUGHTER  89 

a  local  lawyer  with  a  strong  flavor  of  the  soil  about 
him. 

Miss  Bennett  watched  Lydia  anxiously.  The  girl 
was  not  accustomed  to  being  kept  waiting.  Her  bank, 
her  dentist,  the  shops  where  she  dealt  had  long  ago 
learned  that  it  saved  everybody  trouble  to  serve  Miss 
Thorne  first. 

At  last  O'Bannon  entered.    Lydia  sprang  up. 

"Mr.  O'Bannon "  she  began.  He  held  up  his 

hand. 

"One  minute,"  he  said. 

He  was  listening  to  the  story  of  the  old  woman,  not 
even  glancing  in  Lydia's  direction;  yet  something  in 
the  bend  of  his  head,  in  the  strain  of  his  effort  to  keep 
his  eyes  on  his  interlocutor  and  his  mind  on  what  was 
being  told  him  made  Miss  Bennett  believe  he  was 
acutely  aware  of  their  presence.  Yet  Lydia  patiently 
bore  even  this  delay.  Miss  Bennett  drew  a  breath 
of  relief.  The  girl  had  evidently  come  resolved  to 
show  her  better  side.  The  impression  was  strength 
ened  when  he  approached  them.  Lydia's  manner  was 
gentle  and  dignified. 

"Mr.  O'Bannon/'  said  she,  "I  feel  distressed  at  the 
sentence  of  my  maid  —  Evans." 

Miss  Bennett  looked  on  like  a  person  seeing  ai 
vision  —  Lydia  had  never  seemed  —  had  never  been 
like  this  —  gentle,  feminine,  well,  there  was  no  other 
word  for  it,  sweet  —  poignantly  sweet.  She  did  not 
eee  how  anyone  could  resist  her,  and  glancing  at  the 


90  MANSLAUGHTER 

district  attorney  she  saw  he  was  not  resisting,  on  the 
contrary,  with  bent  head,  and  his  queer  light  eyej* 
fixed  softly  on  Lydia's  he  was  drinking  in  every  tone 
of  her  voice.  Their  voices  sank  lower  and  lower  -until 
they  were  almost  whispering  to  each  other,  so  low  that 
Miss  Bennett  thought  fantastically  that  anybody  com 
ing  in  unexpectedly  might  have  thought  they  were 
lovers. 

"She  isn't  a  Criminal,"  Lydia  was  saying.  "She 
was  tempted,  and  she  has  confessed.  Won't  you  help 
me  to  save  her  ?" 

"I  can't,"  he  whispered  back.  "It's  too  late. 
She's  been  sentenced." 

"Too  late,  perhaps,  by  the  regular  methods  —  but 
there  are  always  others.  You  have  so  much  power  — 
you  give  people  the  feeling  you  can  do  anything." 
He  shook  his  head,  still  gazing  at  her.  "You  give  me 
that  feeling.  Do  this  for  me." 

"You  could  have  done  it  yourself,  so  easily,  before 
ehe  was  sentenced." 

"I  know,  I  know.  That's  why  I  care  so.  Oh,  Mr. 

O'Bannon,  just  for  a  moment,  you  and  I "  Her 

yoice  sank  so  that  Miss  Bennett  could  not  hear  what 
she  said,  but  she  saw  her  put  her  hand  on  his  arm 
like  a  person  taking  possession  of  her  own  belongings. 
Then  there  was  no  use  in  listening  any  more,  for  a 
Complete  silence  had  fallen  between  them;  they  did 
not  even  seem  to  be  breathing. 

The  district  attorney  suddenly  raised  his  head  with 


MANSLAUGHTER  91 

a  quick  shake,  like  a  dog  coining  out  of  water,  and 
stepped  back. 

"It  can't  be  done,"  he  said.  "If  I  were  willing  to 
break  the  law  into  pieces,  I  can't  do  it." 

Lydia's  brow  darkened.  "You  mean  you  won't/' 
she  said. 

"No,"  he  answered  quietly.  "I  mean  just  what  I 
say.  I  can't.  Remember  you  have  had  two  chances 
to  help  the  girl  —  at  the  first  complaint,  and  in  your 
conversation  with  the  judge.  Why  didn't  you  do  it 
then  ?" 

Why  hadn't  she?  She  didn't  know,  but  she 
answered  hastily : 

"I  did  not  understand " 

"You  wouldn't  understand,"  he  returned,  in  that 
quiet,  terrible  tone  that  made  her  think  somehow  of 
Ilseboro.  "I  tried  to  tell  you  and  you  wouldn't  wait 
to  hear,  and  the  judge  tried  to  tell  you  and  you 
wouldn't  listen.  People  don't  often  get  three  chancea 
in  this  world,  Miss  Thorne." 

His  tone  maddened  her,  in  combination  with  her 
own  failure.  "Are  you  taking  it  upon  yourself  to 
reprove  me,  Mr.  O'Bannon  ?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  taking  it  upon  myself  to  tell  you  how  things 
are,"  he  answered. 

"I  don't  believe  it  is  the  way  they  are,"  she  said. 

Angry  as  she  was,  she  did  not  mean  the  phrase  to 
sound  as  insulting  as  it  did.  She  meant  that  there 
must  be  some  unsuspected  avenue  of  approach;  but 


92  MANSLAUGHTEK 

her  quick  tone  and  insolent  manner  made  the  words 
themselves  sound  like  the  final  insult. 

O'Bannon  simply  turned  from  her,  and  holding  up 
his  hand  to  the  shifty-eyed  hoy  said  clearly,  "I'll  see 
you  now,  Gray." 

There  was  nothing  for  Lydia  to  do  hut  accept  her 
Dismissal.  She  flounced  out  of  the  room,  and  all  the 
way  home  in  the  car  shocked  Miss  Bennett  by  her 
epithets.  "Insolent  country  lout"  was  the  mildest  of 
them. 

A  few  days  afterward  Miss  Thome  moved  hack  to 
!N"ew  York  to  the  house  in  the  East  Seventies.  Miss 
Bennett,  who  hated  the  country,  partly  because  there 
she  was  more  under  Lydia's  thumb,  rejoiced  at  being 
back  in  New  York.  She  had  many  friends  —  was 
much  more  personally  popular  than  her  charge  — 
and  in  town  she  could  see  them  more  easily. 
Every  morning  after  she  had  finished  her  housekeep 
ing  she  went  out  and  walked  round  the  reservoir. 
She  liked  to  walk,  planting  her  little  feet  as 
precisely  as  if  she  were  dancing  or  skating.  Then 
there  was  usually  some  necessary  shopping  for  Lydia 
or  the  house  or  herself;  then  luncheon,  and  afterward 
for  an  hour  or  two  her  own  work.  She  was  a  member 
of  endless  committees,  entertainments  for  charitable 
purposes,  hospital  boards,  reform  associations.  Then 
before  five  she  was  at  home,  behind  the  tea  table,  wait 
ing  on  Lydia,  engaged  in  getting  rid  of  people  whom 
Lydia  didn't  want  to  see  and  keeping  those  whom 


MANSLAUGHTER  93 

Lydia  would  want  to  see  but  had  forgotten.  And 
then  dinner  —  at  home  if  Lydia  was  giving  a  party; 
but  most  often  both  women  dined  out. 

The  winter  was  notable  for  Lydia's  sudden  friend 
ship  or  flirtation,  or  affair  as  it  was  variously  de 
scribed,  with  Stephen  Albee,  the  ex-governor  of  a 
great  state.  It  would  have  seemed  more  natural  if  he 
had  been  one  of  Eleanor's  discoveries,  but  he  was 
not  —  he  was  Lydia's  own  find.  Eleanor,  with  all  her 
airs  of  a  young  old  maid,  had  never  been  known  to  dis 
tinguish  any  man  lacking  in  the  physical  attractions 
of  youth.  Albee,  though  he  had  been  a  fine-looking 
man  once  and  still  had  a  certain  magnificent  leonine 
appearance,  was  over  fifty  and  showed  his  years.  He 
had  come  to  New  York  to  conduct  an  important  Fed 
eral  investigation,  and  the  masterly  manner  in  which 
he  was  doing  it  led  to  presidential  prophecies. 
Lydia's  friends  were  beginning  to  murmur  that  it 
would  be  just  like  Lydia  to  end  in  the  White  House. 
Besides,  the  governor  was  rich,  the  owner  of  silver 
mines  and  a  widower.  It  was  noticed  that  Lydia  was 
more  respectful  to  him  than  she  had  ever  been  to  any 
one,  followed  his  lead  intellectually,  and  quoted  him 
to  the  verge  of  being  comic. 

"It  is  painful  to  me/'  Eleanor  said,  "to  watch  the 
process  of  Lydia's  discovering  politics.  Last  Monday 
the  existence  of  the  Federal  constitution  dawned  upon 
her,  and  next  week  states'  rights  may  emerge." 

It  was  equally  painful  to  the  governor's  old  friends 


94:  MANSLAUGHTEK 

to  watch  the  even  less  graceful  process  of  his  dis 
covery  of  social  life.  The  two  friends  adventured 
mutually.  If  Lydia  sat  all  day  listening  to  his  inves 
tigation,  he  appeared  hardly  less  regularly  in  hei- 
opera  box. 

Oddly  enough,  they  had  met  at  a  prison-reform 
luncheon  given  by  the  same  noble  women  whose  pres 
ence  at  her  house  had  so  much  irritated  Lydia.  The 
object  of  the  luncheon  was  to  advertise  the  cause,  to 
inspire  workers,  to  raise  money.  Albee  was  the  prin 
cipal  speaker,  not  because  he  had  any  special  interest 
in  prison  reform,  but  because  he  was  the  most  con 
spicuous  public  figure  in  New  York  at  the  moment, 
and  as  he  was  known  not  to  be  an  orator,  everyone  was 
eager  to  hear  him  speak.  Mrs.  Galton,  the  chairman 
of  the  meeting,  was  shocked  by  his  reactionary  views 
on  prisons  when  he  expounded  them  to  her  in  an  at 
tempt  to  evade  her  invitation;  but  with  the  sound 
worldiness  which  every  reformer  must  acquire  she 
knew  that  his  name  was  far  more  important  to  her 
cause  than  his  views,  and  with  a  little  judicious  flat 
tery  she  roped  him  into  promising  he  would  come  and 
say  a  few  words  —  not,  he  specially  insisted,  a  speech. 
Mrs.  Galton  agreed,  knowing  that  no  speaker  in  the 
world,  certainly  no  masculine  speaker,  could  resist  the 
appeal  of  a  large,  warm,  admiring  audience  when 
once  he  got  to  his  feet.  "The  only  difficulty  will  be 
stopping  him,"  she  thought  rather  sadly.  It  would 
be  wise,  too,  she  thought,  to  put  someone  next  to  him 


MANSLAUGHTER  95 

at  luncheon  who  would  please  him.  Flattery  from  an 
ugly  old  woman  like  herself  wouldn't  be  enough. 
Then  she  remembered  Lydia,  whom,  after  their  un 
fortunate  meeting  at  luncheon  in  the  autumn,  she  had 
taken  through  one  of  the  men's  prisons  in  an  effort  to 
enlist  the  girl's  cooperation.  They  had  had  confer 
ences  over  Evans  too,  for  Lydia  had  not  remained 
utterly  indifferent  to  Evans'  situation,  had  indeed  per 
mitted,  even  urged,  Miss  Bennett  to  go  to  visit  the  girl 
and  see  what  could  be  done  for  her. 

Miss  Thorne  accepted  the  invitation  to  attend  the 
luncheon;  and  then,  as  cold-bloodedly  as  a  diplomat 
might  make  use  of  a  lovely  courtesan,  Mrs.  Galton  put 
her  next  to  the  great  man  at  the  speakers'  table,  where 
of  course  so  young,  idle  and  useless  a  person  had  no 
right  to  be. 

The  governor  arrived  very  late,  with  his  fingers  in 
his  waistcoat  pocket  to  indicate  to  all  who  saw  him 
hurrying  in  between  the  crowded  tables  that  he  had 
been  unavoidably  detained  and  had  spent  the  last  half 
hour  in  agonized  contemplation  of  his  watch.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  had  been  reading  the  papers  at  his 
club,  wishing  to  cut  down  the  hour  of  too  much  food 
and  too  much  noise  which  he  knew  would  precede  the 
hour  of  too  much  speaking.  He  knew  he  would  sit 
next  to  Mrs.  Galton,  whom  he  esteemed  as  a  wise  and 
good  philanthropist  but  dreaded  as  a  companion. 

Everything  began  as  he  feared.  He  took  his  place 
on  Mrs.  Galton's  right,  with  an  apology  for  having 


96  MANSLAUGHTER 

been  detained  —  unavoidably.  It  had  looked  ,at  one 
time  as  if  he  could  not  get  there,  but  of  course  his 
feeling  for  the  great  work 

Mrs.  Galton,  who  had  been  through  all  this  hun 
dreds  of  times  and  knew  he  had  never  intended  to 
arrive  a  minute  earlier  than  he  did,  smiled  warmly, 
and  said  how  fortunate  they  counted  themselves  in 
having  obtained  an  hour  of  the  time  of  a  man  whom 
all  the  world 

On  the  contrary,  the  governor  esteemed  it  a  privi 
lege  to  speak  on  behalf  of  a  cause  which  commanded 
the  sympathy 

It  was  a  turning  point,  indeed,  in  the  history  of  any. 
cause,  when  a  man  like  the  governor 

They  would  have  gone  on  like  this  through  lunch 
eon,  but  at  this  moment  a  sudden  rustling  at  his  side 
made  the  governor  turn,  and  there  —  later  a  good  deal 
than  he  had  contrived  to  be  —  was  Lydia,  Lydia  in  a 
tight  plain  dress  and  a  small  plumed  hat  that  made 
her  look  like  a  crested  serpent.  Mrs.  Galton  intro 
duced  them,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  settled  back  to 
eating  her  lunch  and  running  over  her  own  introduc 
tory  remarks  in  the  comfortable  certainty  that  the 
governor  would  give  her  no  more  trouble. 

He  didn't.  He  looked  at  Lydia,  and  all  his  heavy 
politeness  dropped  from  him.  His  eyes  twinkled,  and 
he  said,  "Come,  my  dear  young  lady,  let  us  save  time 
by  your  telling  me  who  you  are  and  what  you  do  and 
why  you  are  here." 


MANSLAUGHTEK  97 

This  amused  Lydia. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "that  that  is  the  best  conver 
sational  opening  I  ever  heard.  Well,  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  say  that  I  am  here  to  listen  to  you." 

"Yes,  yes  —  perhaps,"  answered  Albee,  with  a 
somewhat  political  wave  of  his  hand,  "in  the  same 
sense  in  which  I  came  here  to  meet  you  —  because 
fate,  luck,  divine  interposition  arranged  it  so.  But 
why,  according  to  your  own  limited  views,  are  you 
here?" 

"Oh,  in  response  to  a  noble  impulse.  Don't  you 
ever  have  them  ?" 

"I  did  —  I  did  when  I  was  your  age,"  said  the  gov 
ernor,  and  he  leaned  back  and  studied  her  with  open 
admiration,  which  somehow  in  a  man  of  his  reputa 
tion  was  not  offensive. 

"Why  are  you  here  yourself?"  said  Lydia,  giving 
him  a  gentle  look  to  convey  that  she  was  very  grateful 
to  him  for  thinking  her  so  handsome. 

"Why,  I  just  told  you,"  answered  the  governor, 
"because  Fate  said  to  herself :  'Now  here's  poor  old 
Stephen  Albee's  been  having  a  dull  hard  time  of  it. 
Let's  have  something  pleasant  happen  to  him.  Let's 
have  him  meet  Miss  Thome.'  " 

A  lady  on  Lydia's  other  side,  who  gave  her  life  to 
the  reform  of  criminals  and  particularly  hated  those 
who  remained  outside  of  penal  institutions,  was  horri 
fied  by  what  she  considered  the  flirtatious  tone  of  the 
conversation.  She  could  hear  —  in  fact  she  listened 


98  MANSLAUGHTEK 

—  that  several  meetings  had  been  arranged  before  the 
governor's  time  came  to  speak. 

Everything  worked  out  exactly  as  Mrs.  Galton  had 
intended.  The  governor  —  who  had  expected  to  say 
that  he  was  heart  and  soul  with  this  great  cause,  to 
rehearse  a  few  historic  examples  of  prison  mismanage 
ment,  to  confide  to  his  audience  that  a  man  of  national 
reputation  was  at  that  moment  waiting  to  see  him 
about  something  of  international  importance,  and  then 
to  get  away  in  time  to  play  a  few  holes  of  golf  before 
dark  —  rose  to  his  feet,  fired  with,  the  determination 
to  make  a  good  speech,  good  enough  to  impress  Lydia ; 
and  he  did.  He  had  a  simple  direct  manner  of  speak 
ing,  so  that  no  one  noticed  that  his  sentences  them 
selves  were  rather  oratorical  and  emotional.  Most 
speakers,  too  many  at  least,  have  just  the  opposite 
technic  —  an  oratorical  manner  and  no  matter  behind 
it.  He  gave  the  impression,  without  actually  saying 
so,  that  the  only  reason  he  had  not  given  his  life  to 
prison  reform  was  that  the  larger  duty  of  the  public 
service  called  him,  and  the  only  reason  why  he  did 
not  swamp  his  audience  with  the  technical  details  of 
the  subject  was  that  it  was  too  painful,  too  shocking. 

There  was  great  and  sincere  applause  as  he  sat 
down.  Workers  were  inspired,  subscriptions  did  flow 
in.  Before  the  next  speaker  rose,  Lydja,  in  sight  of 
the  whole  room,  walked  out,  followed  by  the  great 
man,  who  had  explained  hastily  to  Mrs.  Galton  that 
he  was  already  late  for  an  engagement  with  a  man  of 


MANSLAUGHTER  99 

national  reputation  who  was  waiting  to  discuss  a  mat 
ter  of  international  importance.  Mrs.  Galton  nodded 
amiably.  She  had  little  further  use  for  the  governor. 

The  next  day  Lydia  went  downtown  to  hear  him 
conducting  his  investigation,  and  was  impressed  by 
the  spectacle  of  his  dominating  will  and  crystalline 
mind  in  action.  She  came  every  day.  Her  life  here 
tofore  had  not  stimulated  her  to  intellectual  endeavor, 
but  now  she  discovered  that  she  had  a  good,  keen, 
mind.  She  learned  the  procedure  of  the  investigation, 
remembered  the  evidence,  read  books  —  Wellman  on 
Cross-Examination  and  the  Adventures  of  Sergeant 
Ballentine.  She  enjoyed  herself  immensely.  It  was 
the  best  game  she  had  ever  played.  The  vision  of  a 
vicarious  career  as  the  wife  of  a  great  politician  was 
now  always  in  the  back  of  her  mind. 

Eleanor,  with  her  superior  intellectual  equipment, 
might  laugh  at  Lydia's  late  discovery  of  the  political 
field ;  but  Lydia's  knowledge  was  not  theoretical  and 
remote,  like  Eleanor's.  It  was  alive,  vivified  by  her 
energy  and  coined  into  the  daily  action  of  her  life. 
With  half  Eleanor's  brains  she  was  twice  as  effective. 

She  admired  Alb'ee  deeply,  almost  dangerously, 
and  she  wanted  to  admire  him  more.  She  enjoyed  all 
the  symbols  of  his  power.  She  liked  the  older,  more 
important  men  of  her  acquaintance  to  come  suing  to 
her  for  an  opportunity  of  meeting  Albee  socially. 
She  liked  to  watch  other  women  trying  to  draw  him 
away  from  her.  She  even  liked  the  way  the  traffic 


100  MANSLAUGHTER 

policemen  would  let  her  car  through  when  he  was 
in  it.  She  liked  all  these  things,  not  from  vanity,  as 
many  girls  would  have  liked  them,  but  because  they 
constantly  held  before  her  eyes  the  picture  of  Albee 
as  a  superman.  And  if  Albee  were  a  superman  the 
problem  of  her  life  was  solved.  Then  everything 
would  be  simple  —  to  give  her  youth  and  beauty  and 
money,  her  courage  and  knowledge  of  the  world  to 
making  him  supreme.  It  was  true  that  he  had  not 
as  yet  asked  her  to  marry  him  —  had  not  even  made 
love  to  her,  unles  admiration  is  love-making  —  but  to 
Lydia  that  was  a  secondary  consideration.  The  first 
thing  was  to  make  up  her  own  mind. 

She  had  two  great  problems  to  face.  At  first  he 
Sid  not  want  to  go  out  at  all  —  did  not  want  to  enter 
her  field.  He  appeared  to  think,  as  so  many  Ameri 
cans  do,  that  there  was  something  trivial,  almost  im 
moral,  in  meeting  your  fellow  creatures  except  in  pro 
fessional  relations.  The  second  problem  was  worse, 
that  having  overcome  his  reluctance,  he  began  to  like 
it  too  much,  to  take  it  too  seriously.  He  had  never 
had  time  for  it  before,  he  said,  but  actually  he  must 
have  felt  excluded  from  it,  either  at  college,  or  as  a 
young  man  in  the  legislature  of  his  state. 

The  first  time  he  went  to  the  opera  with  her  —  he 
was  genuinely  fond  of  music  —  she  noticed  this. 
Lydia's  box  was  next  to  Mrs.  Little's  The  news 
papers  made  her  name  impressive,  but  her  slim  white- 
haired  presence  made  her  more  so.  Lydia  herself  ad- 


MANSLAUGHTER-  101 

mired  her,  and  if  ever  she  thought  of  her  own  old  age 
she  thought  she  would  like  to  be  like  Mrs.  Little — a 
.wish  very  unlikely  of  realization,  for  Mrs.  Little  had 
been  molded  by  traditional  obligations  and  sacrifices 
to  duties  which  Lydia  had  never  acknowledged. 

As  they  were  waiting  in  the  crowded  lobby  of  the 
Thirty-ninth  Street  entrance  —  all  the  faces  above 
.velvets  and  furs  peering  out  and  all  the  footmen's 
faces  peering  in  and  everyone  chattering  and  shouting 
and  so  little  apparently  accomplished  in  the  way  of 
blearing  the  crowd  —  Albee  said :  "Mrs.  Little  has 
asked  me  to  dine  on  the  sixteenth." 

Lydia  caught  something  complaisant  in  the  tone. 
The  idea  that  he  could  be  flattered  by  such  an  invita 
tion  was  distasteful  to  her. 

"Did  you  accept  ?"  she  asked  in  a  cold  tone  that  she 
tried  to  make  noncommittal. 

Fortunately  politics  had  taught  Albee  caution.  He 
tad  not  accepted.  He  had  said  that  he  would  let  the 
great  lady  know  in  the  morning. 

"Do  you  think  that  sort  of  thing  will  amuse  you  ?"• 

He  answered  that  it  would  amuse  him  if  she  were 
going,  and  against  her  better  judgment  she  allowed 
herself  to  believe  that  the  eagerness  in  his  voice  had 
been  occasioned  by  the  promised  opportunity  of  see 
ing  her. 

The  fancy  ball  was  more  serious.  The  Pulsifers 
iwere  giving  it  in  their  great  ballroom  just  before 
Lent.  Lydia  and  Miss  Bennett  were  discussing  cos- 


102  MANSLAUGHTER 

tumes  one  afternoon  at  tea  time  when  Albee  was  an 
nounced.  Lydia  had  been  at  his  investigation  that 
morning,  and  had  never  admired  him  more. 

"It's  the  Pulsifers  we're  talking  about/'  said  Miss 
Bennett  as  he  entered.  "Lydia  wants  to  be  a 
Japanese,  but  there'll  be  lots  of  them.  I  want  her 
to  go  as  an  American  Indian." 

With  a  vivid  recollection  of  him  deciding  a 
struggle  that  morning  between  two  lawyers,  Lydia  felt 
ashamed,  humbled,  that  she  should  be  presented  to 
him  as  occupied  with  such  a  subject  as  a  fancy  cos 
tume.  His  voice  cut  in. 

"Oh,  yes,  the  Pulsifers !  I  had  a  car7,  f*;is  morn 
ing."  It  was  the  same  complaisant  tone  —  as  if  it 
mattered  whether  he  had  or  not. 

"Oh,  do  go !"  cried  Miss  Bennett.  She  meant  to 
be  helpful,  and  ac[ded  the  first  thing  that  came  into 
her  head.  "You  would  make  a  wonderful  Roman 
senator.  I'll  arrange  your  costume  for  you." 

In  a  flash  Lydia  saw  him  before  her,  barelegged, 
bare  armed,  bare  throated.  She  recoiled,  though  of 
course  it  was  not  his  fault.  If  Benny  had  said  a  doge 
or  a  cardinal ;  but  glancing  at  her  friend  she  saw  he 
was  not  suited  to  either  role.  He  was  not  fine  and 
thin  and  subtle.  He  was  the  type  of  a  Roman  senator. 

"It  would  be  a  great  temptation  to  go  —  to  see  Miss 
Thome  as  an  Indian,"  he  answered,  smiling  his 
admiration  at  her. 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  go,"  said  Lydia,  waving  her 


MANSLAUGHTER  103 

head  slightly.  "I  don't  think  it's  dignified  — 
dressing  up  like  monkeys." 

Miss  Bennett  looked  up  surprised.  Lydia  had  been 
so  interested  in  the  whole  subject  a  few  minutes  be 
fore.  She  thought  the  girl  was  growing  uncommonly 
capricious.  Albee  caught  the  note  at  once. 

"If  they  would  let  me  go  as  a  spectator "  he 

began. 

"That  spoils  it,  you  know,"  Miss  Bennett  answered, 
but  Lydia  interrupted : 

"Of  course,  they'd  be  glad  to  get  the  governor  on 
any  terms. 

But  the  question  was  more  simply  settled.  Albee 
was  summoned  to  Washington  to  testify  before  a  com 
mittee  of  the  Senate  which  under  the  guise  of  helping 
him  was  actually  trying  to  steal  the  political  thunder 
of  his  investigation  and  Lydia,  with  her  Indian  cos 
tume  just  completed  —  and  Benny's,  too,  from  a 
Longhi  picture  —  abandoned  the  whole  thing  and 
went  off  to  Washington  to  hear  the  great  man  testify 
carrying  the  reluctant  Miss  Bennett  with  her. 

Bobby  Dorset,  who  had  said  immediately  just  what 
Lydia  had  longed  to  hear  Albee  say  —  that  parties 
like  that  were  more  trouble  than  they  were  worth  — 
had  been  coerced  by  Lydia  into  going.  She  had  made 
him  get  a  Greek  warrior's  costume,  in  which  he  was 
very  splendid.  He  was  left  with  his  costume  and  his 
party,  and  no  Lydia  to  make  it  pleasant. 

He  had  come  in  late  one  afternoon  and  had  stayed 


104  MANSLAUGHTER 

on,  as  he  often  did  to  dinner.  In  the  middle  of  the 
meal  Ljdia  was  called  away  —  Governor  Albeo 
wanted  to  speak  to  her  on  the  telephone.  She  sprang 
tip  from  the  table  and  left  the  room.  Miss  Bennett 
looked  pathetically  at  Bobby. 

"It's  to  decide  whether  we  go  to  Washington  to 
morrow/'  she  said. 

"To  Washington?" 

"The  governor  is  going  to  testify  before  a  Senate 
committee  and  has  invited  us  to  come.  It  will  be 
very  interesting,"  Miss  Bennett  added  loyally. 

"But  the  Pulsifers  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  surprised  Lydia  cares  so  little  for  that. 
Of  course,  at  my  age,  I'm  grateful  to  escape  it." 

"Oh,  Benny,"  said  Bobby,  "you're  not  a  bit! 
You'd  much  rather  go  to  it  than  to  any  old  Senate 
committee.  You  love  parties  for  the  same  reason  that 
the  lamb  loved  Mary." 

"You  make  me  seem  very  frivolous  —  at  fifty-five," 
said  Miss  Bennett. 

Then  Lydia  came  back  from  the  pantry,  her  eyes 
bright,  and  laid  her  hand  on  her  companion's 
shoulder,  a  rare  caress,  as  she  passed. 

"We're  going,  Benny.  It  isn't  closed  to  the  pub 
lic."  Her  whole  face  W3s  softened  and  lit  by  her 
pleasure. 

Bobby  thought,  "Can  it  be  she  really;  cares  for  tHat 
old  war  horse  ?" 


CHAPTEE  VII 

IT  WAS  great  fun  traveling  with  Albee.  He  had 
engaged  a  drawing-room  on  the  Congressional 
Limited,  and  with  a  forethought,  old-fashioned 
but  agreeable,  had  provided  newspapers  and  maga 
zines  and  a  box  of  candy.  His  secretary  was  hover 
ing  near  with  letters  to  be  signed.  The  conductor 
came  and  asked  whether  everything  was  all  right, 
governor,  and  people  passed  the  door  deliberately, 
staring  in  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  great  man;  and 
Lydia  could  see  that  they  weije  murmuring,  "That's 
Albee,  you  know,  he's  going  down  to  testify." 

Lydia  did  not  know  Washington  at  all.  She  had 
been  taken  there  once  as  a  child  by  one  of  the  ener 
getic  young  American  governesses  —  had  gone  to  Mt. 
Vernon  by  boat  and  home  by  trolley,  had  whispered 
in  the  rotunda  and  looked  at  the  statues  and  seen  the 
House  and  been  secretly  glad  that  the  Senate  was  in 
secret  session  so  that  she  couldn't  see  that,  and  there 
would  be  time  to  go  up  the  monument  —  something 
that  she  really  had  enjoyed  —  not  only  on  account  of 
the  view,  but  because  her  governess  was  afraid  of  ele 
vators  and  was  terrified  in  the  slow,  jerky  ascent. 

Then  during  the  period  of  her  engagement  to  Ilseboro 

105 


106  MANSLAUGHTEK 

she  had  been  at  one  or  two  dinners  at  the  British  em 
bassy.  But  that  had  been  long  ago,  before  the  days 
of  her  discovery  of  the  Federal  Constitution.  Of  gov 
ernmental  Washington  she  knew  nothing. 

The  Senate  committee  met  at  ten  the  next  morning. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  the  hearing,  and 
the  corridors  were  full  of  people  waiting  for  the  doors 
to  open.  Miss  Bennett  and  Lydia  were  taken  in  first 
through  a  private  room  to  assure  their  having  good 
seats.  Lydia  found  the  committee  room  beautiful  — 
more  like  a  gentleman's  library  than  an  office  —  wide, 
high  windows  looking  out  on  the  Capitol  grounds,  tall 
bookcases  with  glass  doors  and  blue-silk  curtains,  a 
huge  polished-wood  table  in  the  center;  with  chairs 
about  it  for  the  senators. 

She  recognized  them  as  they  came  in  from  Albee's 
description  —  the  neat  blue-eyed  senator  who  looked 
like  a  little  white  fox,  his  enemy ;  the  fat  blond  young 
man,  full  of  words  and  smiles,  who  was  a  most  ineffec 
tive  friend ;  and  the  large  suave  chairman,  in  a  tightly 
fitting  plum-colored  suit,  with  a  grace  of  manner  that 
kept  you  from  knowing  whether  he  were  friend  or  foe. 

"Not  that  you  would  have  suspected  from  anyone's 
manner  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  enmity  in  the 
world  —  they  were  all  so  quiet  and  friendly.  Indeed, 
jvhen  Albee  came  in  he  was  talking  —  "chatting" 
would  be  a  better  word  —  with  the  little  fox-faced 
senator  against  whom  he  had  so  specially  warned 
Lydia.  The  whole  tone  was  as  if  eight  or  ten  hard- 


MANSLAUGHTER  107 

working  men  had  called  in  a  friend  to  help  them  out 
on  the  facts. 

Lydia  thought  it  very  exciting,  knowing  as  she  did 
how  much  of  hate  and  party  politics  lay  behind  the 
hearing.  She  was  only  dimly  aware  that  her  own, 
future  depended  on  the  impression  Albee  might  now 
make  upon  her.  In  his  own  investigation  in  New 
York  he  was  the  chief,  hut  here  he  would  he  attacked, 
ruled  against,  tripped  up  if  possible.  There  he  was 
a  general,  here  he  was  a  duelist.  She  saw  several 
senators  glancing  at  her,  asking  who  she  was,  and! 
guessed  that  the  answer  was  that  she  was  the  girl 
Albee  was  in  love  with,  engaged  to,  making  a  fool  of 
himself  over —  something  like  that.  She  didn't  mind. 
She  felt  proud  to  be  identified  with  him.  She  looked 
at  him  as  he  sat  down  at  the  chairman's  right,  and 
tried  to  think  how  she  would  feel  if  she  were  saying 
to  herself,  "There's  my  husband."  Could  you  marry; 
a  man  for  whom  you  felt  an  immovable  physical  cold 
ness  ?  She  thought  of  Dan  O'Bannon's  kiss,  and  the 
continuity  of  her  thought  broke  up  in  a  tangle  of  emo 
tion  —  even  there  in  the  white  morning  light  of  that 
remote  committee  room. 

The  hearing  was  beginning ;  it  was  beginning  witK 
phrases  like,  "The  committee  would  be  glad,  governor, 
if  you  would  tell  us  in  your  own  words " 

"If  I  might  be  permitted,  Mister  Senator,  my; 
tmderstanding  is " 

Again  and  again  she  saw  the  trap  laid  for  him  and 


108  MANSLAUGHTER 

thought  with  alarm  that  there  was  no  escape,  and  then 
saw  that  with  no  effort,  with  just  a  turn  of  his  easy 
wrist,  he  escaped,  and  what  was  more  remarkable,  had 
told  the  truth  —  yes,  as  she  thought  it  over,  it  was 
nearly  the  truth.  He  was  particularly  successful  with 
the  fox-faced  senator,  whose  only  interest  seemed  to 
be  to  get  the  governor  to  say  something  that  would 
look  badly  in  newspaper  headlines.  She  grasped 
Albee's  method  after  a  few  instances.  It  was  to  make 
the  senator  define  and  redefine  his  question  until 
whatever  odium  attached  to  the  subject  would  fall  on 
the  questioner,  not  the  answerer. 

After  fifteen  minutes  she  knew  that  he  was  a  match 
[for  them  —  his  mind  was  quicker,  subtler  and  more 
powerful.  He  made  them  all  seem  mentally  clumsy; 
and  evilly  disposed.  He  could  put  their  questions, 
even  the  hostile  ones,  so  much  better  than  they  could. 
Again  and  again,  with  a  gentle,  an  almost  loving 
smile,  he  would  say,  "I  think,  Mister  Senator,  if  you 
will  allow  me,  that  what  you  really  mean  to  ask  in 

that  last  question  is  whether "  And  a  clear  exact 

statement  of  the  confused  ideas  of  the  senator  would 
follow,  as  the  senator,  with  an  abashed  nod,  would  be 
forced  to  admit. 

Lydia,  unused  to  this  sort  of  thing,  thought  it  little 
short  of  a  miracle  that  anyone's  mind  could  work  as 
1  well  as  that  under  such  pressure.  He  seemed  to  her  a 
superman. 

After  the  hearing  they  lunched  downstairs  in  the 


MANSLAUGHTER  109 

airless  basement  in  which  the  Fathers  of  the  Senate 
are  provided  with  excellent  Southern  dishes,  served 
by  white-jacketed  negroes.  Lydia  met  most  of  the 
notables,  even  the  fox-faced  senator,  who,  she  was  told 
was  very  much  of  a  ladies'  man.  She  was  for  the 
first  time  a  satellite,  a  part  of  the  suite  of  a  great  man, 
and  glad  to  be. 

Then,  after  luncheon,  Benny  having  tactfully  ex 
pressed  a  wish  to  go  back  to  the  hotel  and  rest,  as  they 
were  going  out  to  dinner,  Lydia  and  the  governor  took 
a  walk  along  the  banks  of  the  Potomac.  March  is 
very  springlike  in  Washington.  The  fruit  trees  were 
beginning  to  bud  and  the  air  was  mild  and  still,  so 
that  the  river  reflected  the  monument  like  a  looking- 
glass. 

"You  seemed  to  me  very;  wonderful  this  morning," 
she  said. 

He  turned  to  her. 

"If  I  were  thirty  years  younger  you  wouldn't  say 
that  to  me  with  impunity." 

"If  you  were  thirty  years  younger  you  would  seem 
like  an  inefficent  boy  compared  to  what  you  are  now." 
Her  face,  her  eyes,  her  whole  body  expressed  the 
admiration  she  felt  for  his  powers. 

There  was  a  little  silence;  then  he  said  gravely, 
"If  I  could  only  persuade  myself  that  it  was  possible 
that  a  girl  of  your  age  could  love  a  man  of 

mine "  Lydia  caught  her  underlip  in  a  white 

tooth  —  she  had  not  meant  love  —  she  had  not 


110  MANSLAUGHTER 

thought  it  a  question  of  that.  His  sensitive  egotism 
understood  her  thought  without  any  spoken  word,  and 
he  added,  "And  I  should  he  content  with  nothing 
else  —  nothing  else,  Lydia." 

In  all  her  cogitation  on  the  possibility  of  her  mar 
riage  with  the  governor  she  had  somehow  never 
thought  of  his  expecting  her  to  love  him  —  to  be  in 
love  with  him. 

She  walked  on  a  few  steps,  and  then  sakl,  "I  don't 
think  I  shall  ever  be  in  love  —  I  never  have.  I  feel 
for  you  a  more  serious  respect  and  admiration  than  I 
have  ever  felt  for  anyone,  man  or  woman." 

"And  what  do  you  feel  for  this  little  blond  shipper- 
snapper  who  is  always  under  your  feet  ?" 

"For  Bobby  ?"  Her  surprise  was  genuine  that  his 
name  should  be  dragged  into  a  serious  discussion.  "I 
feel  affection  for  Bobby.  He  is  very  useful  and  kind. 
I  could  never  love  him.  Oh,  mercy  no  V9 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Albee,  "you  havu  never 
felt  —  you  have  never  had  a  man  take  you  in  his 
arms,  and  say  to  yourself  as  he  did,  'This  is  living7  ?" 

"ISTo,  no,  no,  no !  Never,  never !"  said  Lydia.  She 
lied  passionately,  so  passionately  that  she  nerer 
stopped  to  remember  that  she  was  lying.  "I  don't 
want  to  feel  like  that.  You  don't  understand  me,  gov 
ernor.  To  feel  what  I  feel  for  you  is  more,  much 
more  than " 

She  stopped  without  finishing  her  sentence. 

"You  make  me  very  proud,  very  happy  when  you 


MANSLAUGHTER  111 

talk  like  that,"  said  Albee.  "I  certainly  never  ex 
pected  that  the  happiest  time  of  my  life  —  these  last 
few  weeks  —  would  come  to  me  after  I  was  fifty.  I 
wonder,"  he  added,  turning  and  looking  her  over  with 
a  sort  of  paternal  amusement  which  she  had  grown  to 
like  —  "I  wonder  if  there  were  really  girls  like  you  in 
my  own  time,  if  I  had  had  sense  enough  to  find 
them." 

Lydia,  who  was  under  the  impression  that  her 
whole  future  was  being  settled  there  and  then  in 
Potomac  Park,  within  sight  of  the  White  House,  on 
which  she  kept  a  metaphysical  eye,  felt  that  this  was 
the  ideal  way  for  a  man  and  woman  to  discuss  their 
marriage  —  not  coldly,  hut  without  surging  waves  of 
emotion  to  blind  their  eyes.  Marriage  had  not  been 
actually  mentioned.  Nothing  definite  had  been  said 
by  either  of  them  when  before  five  they  came  in  to 
Join  Benny  at  tea.  But  Lydia  had  no  doubt  of  the 
significance  of  their  talk.  Like  most  clear-sighted 
heiresses,  she  know,  rationally,  that  her  fortune  was  a 
part  of  her  charms ;  but  like  most  human  beings,  she 
found  it  easy  to  believe  that  she  was  loved  for  herself. 

They  were  to  go  back  to  New  York  on  the  midnight 
so  that  the  governor  might  be  in  time  for  his  morn 
ing's  work  in  the  investigation,  but  before  going  he 
was  having  a  small  dinner  party.  An  extra  man  for 
Benny,  a  distinguished  member  of  the  House,  and  the 
senator  from  his  own  state  —  an  old  political  ally  — 
and  his  wife.  His  wife  had.  been  a  Washington 


112  MANSLAUGHTER 

[woman,  of  an  old  family,  and  now  with  her  husband's 
money  and  position  her  house  was  a  place  of  some 
political  importance. 

From  the  moment  the  Framinghams  arrived  a 
cloud  began  to  descend  on  Lydia.  She  liked  them 
both  —  the  fresh-faced,  white-haired,  clever,  wise 
senator  and  his  pretty,  elegant  wife  —  elegant,  but  a 
little  more  elaborate  than  the  same  type  in  New  York. 
Mrs.  Framingham's  hair  was  more  carefully  curled, 
her  dress  a  trifle  richer  and  tighter,  her  jewels  more 
numerous  than  Lydia's  or  Miss  Bennett's;  but  still 
Lydia  recognized  her  at  once  as  an  equal  —  a  woman 
who  had  her  own  way  socially  in  her  own  setting. 

She  liked  the  Framinghams  —  it  was  Albee  she 
liked  less  well.  He  was  different  from  the  instant  of 
their  entrance.  To  use  the  language  of  the  nursery, 
he  began  to  show  off,  not  in  connection  with  his  suc 
cess  of  the  morning  —  Lydia  could  have  forgiven 
some  vanity  about  that  performance  —  but  about 
social  matters,  the  opera,  Miss  Thome's  box,  and 
then  —  Lydia  knew  it  was  coming  —  the  Pulsifers. 
He  wanted  Mrs.  Framingham  to  know  that  he  had 
been  asked  to  the  Pulsifers'.  He  did  it  this  way : 

"You  may  imagine,  Mrs.  Framingham,  how  mucH 
flattered  I  feel  that  Miss  Thome  should  have  come  on 
to  the  hearing,  missing  one  of  the  most  brilliant  par 
ties  of  the  season  —  yes,  the  Pulsifers'.  Of  course,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  is  a  great  relief  to  side-step 
that  sort  of  thing.  Oh,  I  don't  wish  to  appear  un- 


MANSLAUGHTER  113 

gracious.  It  was  very  kind  of  Mrs.  Pulsifer  to  invite 
me,  but  I  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to  avoid  it.  Only  for 
Miss  Thome " 

Even  his  voice  sounded  different  —  specious,  serv 
ile  —  "servile"  was  the  word  in  Lydia's  mind.  Mrs. 
iFramingham,  if  she  were  impressed  by  the  news  that 
the  governor  could  have  gone  if  he  had  wanted,  be 
trayed  not  the  least  interest.  Lydia  pieced  out  the 
story  of  her  attitude  to  the  governor.  Evidently  when 
ehe  had  been  last  in  the  capital  of  her  husband's  state 
lAlbee  had  been  only  a  powerful  member  of  the  legis 
lature  —  useful  to  her  husband,  but  not  invited  to  her 
house.  All  very  well,  thought  Lydia  —  a  criticism 
of  Mrs.  Framingham's  lack  of  vision  —  if  only  Albee 
would  stand  by  it,  resent  it,  and  not  be  so  eager  to 
please. 

As  she  grew  more  and  more  silent  the  governor, 
ably  seconded  by  Miss  Bennett,  grew  more  and  more 
affable.  It  would  have  been  a  very  pleasant  party  if 
Lydia  had  not  been  there.  Miss  Bennett  could  not 
imagine  what  was  wrong;  and  even  Albee,  with  his 
instinctive  knowledge  of  human  beings  and  his  quick 
egotism  to  guide  him,  was  too  well  pleased  with  his 
own  relation  to  his  party  to  feel  anything  wrong. 
Lydia's  silence  only  gave  him  greater  scope. 

She  did  not  see  him  alone  again.  After  dinner  they 
went  to  the  theater  and  then  to  the  train.  In  the  com 
partment  she  and  Benny  had  the  little  scene  they 
always  had  on  these  occasions.  Lydia  assumed  that 


114:  MANSLAUGHTER 

she  as  the  younger  woman  would  take  the  upper 
berth.  Miss  Bennett  asserted  that  she  infinitely  pre 
ferred  it.  Lydia  ignored  the  assertion,  doubting  its 
accuracy.  Miss  Bennett  insisted,  and  Lydia  yielded  — 
yielded  largely  for  the  reason  that  the  dispute  seemed 
to  her  undignified. 

She  was  glad  on  this  occasion  that  she  was  in  the 
lower  berth,  for  she  did  not  sleep,  and  raising  the 
shade  she  stared  out.  There  was  something  soothing 
in  lying  back  on  her  pillows  watching  the  world  flash 
past  you  as  if  you  were  being  dragged  along  on  a 
magic  carpet  while  everyone  else  slept. 

Her  future  was  all  in  chaos  again.  She  could 
never  marry  Albee.  She  thought,  as  she  so  often  did, 
of  Ilseboro's  parting  words  about  her  being  such  a 
bully  that  she  would  always  get  second-rate  playmates. 
It  seemed  to  her  the  real  trouble  lay  in  her  demand 
that  they  should  be  first-rate.  Most  women  would 
have  accepted  Albee  as  first-rate,  but  she  knew  he 
wasn't.  She  felt  tragically  alone. 

Their  train  got  in  at  seven,  and  as  soon  as  Lydia 
had  had  a  bath  and  breakfast  —  that  is,  by  nine 
o'clock  —  she  was  calling  Eleanor  on  the  telephone. 
Consideration  of  the  fact  that  her  friend  might  have 
been  up  late  the  night  before  was  not  characteristic 
of  Lydia.  Tragic  or  not,  she  was  curions  to  hear 
what  had  happened  at  the  Pulsifers'.  Sh^  wanted 
Eleanor  to  come  and  lunch  with  her.  ISTo,  Miss  Bell- 
ington  was  going  back  to  the  country  that  rooming. 


MANSLAUGHTER  115 

It  was  finally  settled  tliat  Lydia  should  drive  Eleanor 
home  in  the  little  runabout  and  stay  for  luncheon  with 
her. 

It  was  one  of  those  mild  days  that  make  you  think 
March  is  really  a  spring  month.  Eleanor  did  not  like 
to  drive  fast;  and  Lydia,  with  unusual  thoughtful- 
ness,  remembered  her  friend's  wishes  and  drove  at  a 
moderate  pace.  That  was  one  way  to  tell  if  Lydia 
was  really  fond  of  anyone  —  if  she  showed  the  sort  of 
consideration  that  most  people  are  brought  up  to  show 
to  all  human  beings.  The  two  women  gossiped  like 
schoolgirls. 

"Was  Bobby  too  wonderful  in  his  costume  ?" 

"My  dear,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  him.  May* 
Swayne  made  really  rather  a  goose  of  herself  about 
him." 

"Yes"  —  this  thoughtfully  from  Lydia  —  "she 
always  does  when  I'm  not  there  to  protect  him.  And 
•Fanny  —  was  her  Cleopatra  as  comic  as  it  sounded  ?" 

Eleanor  wanted  to  know  about  Lydia's  experi 
ences —  the  hearing,  Washington.  Lydia  told  how 
magnificently  the  governor  had  defended  himself,  and 
added  nothing  at  first  about  the  less  desirable  aspects 
of  his  character.  She  thought  this  reserve  arose  from 
loyalty,  but  the  fact  that  the  governor  was  generally, 
considered  to  be  her  own  property  made  her  feel  that 
to  criticize  him  was  to  cheapen  her  own  assets.  But 
she  had  great  confidence  in  Eleanor,  and  by  the  time 
they  had  sat  down  to  lunch  alone  together  she  found 


116  MANSLAUGHTEK 

herself  launched  on  the  whole  story  of  the  impression 
Albee  had  made  upon  her.  So  interested,  indeed,  was 
she  in  the  narrative  that  when  toward  the  end  of 
luncheon  Eleanor  was  called  to  the  telephone  she 
hardly  noticed  the  incident,  except  as  it  was  an  inter 
ruption.  She  sat  going  over  it  all  in  her  mind  during 
the  few  minutes  that  Eleanor  was  away,  and  the  in 
stant  Eleanor  came  back  she  resumed  what  she  was 
saying. 

Eleanor  was  a  satisfactory  listener.  She  did  not 
begin  scolding  you,  telling  you  what  you  ought  to  have 
clone  before  you  had  half  finished.  She  did  not  allow 
herself  to  be  reminded  of  adventures  of  her  own  and 
snatch  the  narrative  away  from  you.  She  sat  silent 
but  alert,  conveying  by  something  neither  words  nor 
motion  that  she  followed  every  intricacy. 

Her  comment  was,  "I  feel  rather  sorry  for  Albee." 

"You  mean  you  don't  think  he's  a  worm  ?"  Lydia 
;was  genuinely  surprised. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  he  is  just  as  you  represent  him! 
I  feel  sorry  for  people  whose  faults  make  them  comic 
and  defenseless.  After  all,  Albee  has  great  abilities; 
You  don't  care  a  bit  for  those,  because  he  turns  out 
not  to  be  perfect.  And  who  are  you,  my  dear,  to  de 
mand  perfection  ?" 

"I  don't!  I  don't,"  cried  Lydia  eagerly.  "Oh, 
Eleanor,  men  are  fortunate!  Apparently  they  can 
fall  in  love  without  a  bit  respecting  you  —  all  the 
more  if  they  don't  —  but  a  woman  must  believe  a 


MANSLAUGHTEK  117 

man  lias  something  superior  about  him,  if  it  is  only; 
his  wickedness.  I  don't  demand  perfection  —  not  a 
bit  —  but  I  do  ask  that  a  man's  faults  should  not  be 
contemptible  faults;  that  he  should  have  some  force 
and  snap ;  that  he  should  be  at  least  a  man." 

"That  doesn't  seem  to  please  you  always  either." 

"You're  thinking  of  Ilseboro.  I  did  like  Ilseboro, 
though  he  was  such  a  bully." 

"No,  I  was  thinking  of  Dan." 

Lydia  opened  her  eyes  as  if  she  couldn't  imagine 
jvhom  she  meant. 

"Of  Dan?" 

"Dan  O'Bannon." 

"Oh,  it's  got  as  far  as  being  'Dan'  now,  has  it  ?" 

"You  dislike  him  for  these  very  qualities  you  say 
you  demand,"  Eleanor  went  on  —  "force  and 
strength " 

Lydia  broke  in. 

"Strength  and  force !  What  I  really  dislike  about 
him,  Eleanor  dear,  is  that  you  take  him  so  seriously. 
I  can't  bear  to  see  you  making  yourself  ridiculous 
about  any  man." 

"I  don't  feel  I  make  myself  ridiculous,  thank  you." 

"I  don't  mean  you'd  ever  be  undignified,  but  it  is. 
ridiculous  for  a  woman  of  your  attainment  and  posi 
tion  to  take  that  young  Irishman  so  seriously — a 
country  lawyer.  Why,  I  can't  bear  to  name  you  in 
the  same  breath!" 

Eleanor  raised  her  shoulders  a  little. 


118  MANSLAUGHTER 

"He'll  be  here  in  a  few  minutes." 
"Here  ?"  Lydia  sprang  up.    "I'm  off  then 1" 
"I  wish  you  wouldn't  go.    If  you  saw  more  of  him 
yyu'd  change  your  opinion  of  him." 

"If  I  saw  more  of  him  I'd  insult  him.  Send  for 
my  car,  will  you?  No,  no,  Eleanor!  I  know  I'm 
right  about  this  —  really,  I  am.  Some  day  you'll 
come  to  agree  with  me." 

"Or  you  with  me,"  answered  Eleanor,  but  she  rang 
and  ordered  Lydia's  car. 

A  few  minutes  later  Lydia  was  on  her  way  home. 
It  was  a  day  when  everything  had  gone  wrong,  she 
thought ;  but  now  a  cure  for  the  nerves  was  open  to 
her.  The  roads  were  empty  at  that  hour,  and  her  foot 
pressed  the  accelerator.  She  thought  that  if  Eleanor 
married  O'Bannon  she  would  lose  her.  She  would 
like  to  prevent  it.  [With  most  girls  she  could  poison 
their  minds  against  a  man  by  representing  him  as 
ludicrous,  but  Eleanor  was  not  easily  swayed.  Lydia 
wondered  if  after  they  were  married  she  could  be 
more  successful.  She  had  never  hated  anyone  quite 
the  way  she  hated  O'Bannon.  It  was  fun,  in  a  way, 
to  hate  a  person.  Her  spirits  began  to  mount  as 
speed,  like  a  narcotic,  soothed  her  nerves.  The  road 
was  smooth  and  new  and  had  stood  the  winter  frosts 
.well.  The  first  spring  thaw  had  deposited  on  its 
cement  surface  a  dampness  which  glistened  here  and 
there  and  made  the  wheels  slip  and  the  car  waver  like 
a  living  thing.  This  only  increased  Lydia's  pleasure 


MANSLAUGHTER  119 

and  fixed  her  attention  as  on  the  narrow  ribbon  of 
•cement  she  passed  an  occasional  car. 

Suddenly  as  she  gashed  past  a  crossroad  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  motorcycle  and  a  khaki  figure  already; 
preparing  to  mount.  She  turned  her  head  far  enough 
to  be  sure  that  it  was  the  same  man.  She  saw  him 
hold  up  his  hand,  heard  his  voice  calling  to  her  to 
stop. 

"No  more  bracelets,  my  friend,"  she  thought,  and 
her  car  shot  forward  faster  than  ever. 

She  fancied  that  he  must  be  having  trouble  getting 
his  engine  started,  for  she  did  not  hear  the  motorcycle 
behind  her.  She  knew  that  just  before  she  entered  the 
village  about  half  a  mile  ahead  of  her  there  was  an: 
unfrequented  little  road  that  ran  into  the  highroad 
she  was  on,  almost  parallel  to  it.  If  she  could  get  on 
.that  she  could  let  the  car  out  for  miles  and  miles. 
The  only  trouble  was  that  she  would  have  to  turn  al 
most  completely  round  and,  going  at  this  pace,  that 
wouldn't  be  easy. 

Presently  she  caught  the  sound  of  the  quick,  regu 
lar  explosion,  and  the  anticipated  speck  appeared  in 
her  mirror.  All  her  powers  were  concentrated  now  on 
keeping  her  car  straight  on  the  slippery  road,  but  she 
thought  grimly,  "Worse  for  him  on  two  wheels  than 
for  me  on  four."  She  felt  a  mounting  determination 
not  to  be  caught  —  a  willingness  to  take  any  risk  Still 
the  man.  on  the  motorcycle  was  gaining  on  her.  At 
an  inequality  in  the  road  her  front  wheels  veered 


120  MANSLAUGHTER 

sharply.  With  a  quick  twist  she  recovered  control 
and  went  straight  again.  She  knew  how  to  drive, 
thank  goodness! 

With  the  man  gaining  on  her,  she  welcomed  the 
sight  of  her  back  road  coming  in  on  the  right.  Even 
at  the  pace  she  could  get  round  it,  she  thought,  by 
skidding  her  car;  and  the  motorcycle  couldn't  but 
would  shoot  ahead  right  into  the  village  of  Wide 
Plains,  scattering  children  and  dogs  before  him  as  he 
came.  She  felt  a  wild  amusement  at  the  thought,  but 
her  face  did  not  relax  its  tense  sternness. 

She  tightened  her  grip  on  the  wheel,  working  the 
car  to  the  left,  preparing  for  the  turn,  and  put  on  her 
brakes  hard  enough  to  lock  the  back  wheels,  expecting 
to  feel  the  quick  sideways  slip  of  a  skidding  car.  In 
stead  there  was  a  terrific  impact  —  the  crash  of  steel 
and  glass,  a  cry.  Her  own  car  shot  out  of  her  control, 
turning  a  complete  circle,  bounded  off  the  road  and  on 
again,  and  came  slowly  to  a  standstill,  pointing  in  the 
same  direction  as  before,  but  some  yards  beyond  the 
fork  in  the  road.  She  looked  about  her.  Fragments 
of  the  motorcycle  were  strewn  from  the  corner  to 
where  in  a  ditch  at  the  foot  of  a  telegraph  pole  the 
man  was  lying,  a  featureless  mass. 

She  leaped  out  of  her  car.  Amid  the  wreckage  of 
the  motorcycle  the  clock  stared  up  at  her  like  a  little 
white  face.  The  world  seemed  to  have  become  silent ; 
her  feet  beating  on  the  cement  as  she  ran  made  the 
only  sound.  The  man  lay  motionless.  He  was  bent 


MANSLAUGHTER  121 

together  and  strangely  twisted  like  a  boneless  scare 
crow  thrown  down  by  the  winds.  An  arm  was  under 
him,  his  eyes  were  closed,  blood  was  oozing  from  his 
mouth.  She  stooped  over  him,  trying  to  lift  his  body, 
into  a  more  natural  position ;  but  he  was  a  large  man, 
and  she  could  do  nothing  with  him.  She  looked  up 
from  the  struggle  and  found  to  her  astonishment  that 
she  was  no  longer  alone.  People  seemed  to  have 
sprung  from  the  earth,  the  air  was  full  of  screams  and 
explanations.  A  large  touring  car  had  come  to  a 
standstill  near  by.  She  vaguely  remembered  having 
passed  it.  A  flivver  was  panting  across  the  road. 
Everyone  was  asking  questions,  which  she  did  not 
stop  to  answer.  The  important  thing  was  to  get 
the  man  into  the  touring  car  and  take  him  to  the 
hospital. 

She  was  so  absorbed  in  all  his  that  her  own  connec 
tion  with  the  situation  did  not  enter  her  mind.  As 
she  sat  in  the  back  of  the  car  supporting  his  body,  the 
blood  stiffening  on  her  own  dark  clothes,  she  thought 
only  of  her  victim.  She  was  not  the  type  of  egotist 
who  thinks  always,  "How  terrible  that  this  should 
have  happened  to  me !" 

She  said  to  herself :  "He  probably  has  a  wife  and 
children.  It  would  have  been  better  if  I  had  been  the 
one  to  be  killed." 

Arrived  at  the  hospital,  she  followed  him  into  the 
where  the  stretcher  carried  him,  and  waited  out 
side  the  screen  while  the  nurses  cut  his  clothes  off.  It 


122  MANSLAUGHTER 

seemed  to  her  hours  before  the  young  house  surgeon 
emerged,  shaking  his  head. 

"Fracture  of  the  base,"  he  said.  "If  he  gets 
.through  the  next  twenty-four  hours  he'll  have  a  60 
per  cent  chance,"  and  he  hurried  away  to  telephone 
the  details  to  his  chief. 

As  she  sat  there  she  realized  that  her  own  body 
•was  sore  and  stiff.  She  must  have  wrenched  herself, 
or  struck  the  steering  wheel  in  the  sudden  turn  of  the 
car.  She  felt  suddenly  exhausted.  There  seemed  no 
point  in  waiting.  They  could  telephone  her  the  result 
of  the  night.  She  left  her  name  and  address  and  went 
home  by  train. 

She  made  a  vow  to  herself  that  she  would  never 
drive  a  car  again.  She  would  not  explain  it  or  dis 
cuss  it,  but  nothing  should  ever  induce  her  to  touch  a 
steering  wheel.  It  was  an  inadequate  expiation. 
Every  time  she  shut  her  eyes  she  saw  that  heap  of 
blood  and  steel  at  the  foot  of  the  telegraph  pole.  Oh, 
if  time  could  only  be  turned  back  so  that  she  could  be 
starting  a  second  time  from  Eleanor's  door !  It  never 
crossed  her  mind  that  this  terrible  personal  misfor 
tune  which  had  befallen  her  made  her  seriously  amen 
able  to  the  law. 


CHAPTER  yill 

DRUMMOND  died  late  in  the  evening.  An 
account  of  the  accident  was  in  the  headlines 
of  the  morning  papers.  Unfortunately  for 
Lydia,  he  was  a  conspicuous  local  figure.  He  had 
had  the  early  popularity  of  a  good-looking,  dissipated 
boy,  and  then  he  had  heen  one  of  the  men  who  had  not 
waited  for  the  draft  but  had  volunteered  and  gone 
into  the  Regular  Army,  and  had  come  home  from 
[France  unwounded,  with  a  heroic  record.  Moreover, 
there  had  been  a  long  boy-and-girl  love  affair  between 
him  and  Alma  Wooley,  the  daughter  of  the  hardware 
merchant.  Mr.  Wooley,  who  was  a  native  Long 
Islander,  hard  and  wise,  had  been  opposed  to  the  en 
gagement  until,  after  the  war,  the  return  of  Drum* 
mond  as  a  hero  made  opposition  impossible.  It  was 
at  this  point  that  O'Bannon  had  come  to  the  rescue, 
securing  the  position  of  traffic  policeman  for  the  you 
man.  The  marriage  was  to  have  taken  place  in  June. 

Before  Drummond  died  he  recovered  consciousness 
long  enough  to  recognize  the  pale  girl  at  his  beside 
and  to  make  an  ante-mortem  statement  as  to  the  cir« 
cumstances  of  the  accident. 

123 


124:  MANSLAUGHTER 

Eleanor  heard  of  tiie  accident  in  the  evening,  but 
did  not  know  of  Lrummond's  death  until  early  the 
following  morning.  She  called  up  O'Bannon,  hut 
he  had  already  left  his  house.  At  the  office  she  was 
asked  if  Mr.  Foster  would  do.  Mr.  Eoster  would  not 
do.  With  her  clear  mind  and  recently  acquired 
knowledge  of  criminal  law,  she  knew  the  situation  was 
serious.  She  called  up  Eanny  Piers  and  found  she 
was  spending  the  day  in  town.  Noel  came  to  the  tele 
phone.  He  was  very  casual. 

"Yes,  poor  Lydia,"  he  said;  "uncomfortable  sort 
of  thing  to  have  happened  to  you." 

"Rather  more  than  uncomfortable,"  answered 
Eleanor.  "Do  you  know  if  she's  been  arrested  ?" 

Piers  laughed  over  the  telephone.  Of  course  she 
hadn't  been.  Really,  his  tone  seemed  to  say,  Eleanor 
allowed  her  socialistic  ideas  to  run  away  with  her 
judgment.  Poor  Lydia  hadn't  meant  any  harm — it 
was  the  sort  of  thing  that  might  happen  to  anyone. 
Oh,  they  might  try  her  —  as  a  matter  of  form.  But 
what  could  they  do  to  her  ? 

"Well,"  said  Eleanor,  "people  have  been  known  to 
go  to  prison  for  killing  someone  on  the  highway." 

Piers  agreed  as  if  her  point  was  irrelevant. 

"Oh,  yes,  some  of  those  careless  chauffeurs.  But 
a  thing  like  this  is  always  arranged.  You'll  see.  You 
•couldn't  get  a  grand  jury  to  indict  a  girl  like  Lydia. 
It  will  be  arranged." 

"Arranged,"  thought  Eleanor  as  she  hung  up  the 


MANSLAUGHTER  125 

receiver,  "only  at  the  expense  of  Dan  O'Bannon's 
honor  or  career." 

She  did  not  want  that,  and  yet  she  did  want  to 
help  Lydia.  She  felt  deeply  concerned  for  the  girl, 
more  aware  than  usual  of  her  warm,  honest  affection 
for  her.  She  often  thought  of  Lydia  as  she  had  ap 
peared  on  her  first  day  at  school.  The  head  mistress  had 
brought  her  into  the  study  and  introduced  her  to  the 
teacher  in  charge.  All  the  girls  had  looked  up  and 
stared  at  the  small,  black-eyed  new  pupil  with  the 
bobbed  hair  and  slim  legs  in  black  silk  stockings,  one 
of  which  she  was  cleverly  twisting  about  the  other. 
She  was  shy  and  monosyllabic,  utterly  unused  to 
children  of  her  own  age ;  and  yet  even  then  she  had 
shown  a  certain  capacity  for  comradeship,  for  under 
the  elbows  of  the  two  tall  teachers  she  had  directed  a 
slow,  shy  smile  at  the  girls  as  much  as  to  say,  "Wait 
till  we  get  together !  We'll  fix  them  I" 

She  was  very  well  turned  out,  for  Miss  Bennett  had 
just  taken  charge,  but  not  so  well  equipped  mentally, 
the  long  succession  of  her  governesses  having  each, 
spent  more  time  in  destroying  the  teachings  of  her 
predecessors  than  in  making  progress  on  her  own  ac 
count.  Much  to  Lydia's  chagrin,  she  was  put  in  ai 
class  of  children  younger  than  she. 

This  was  shortly  before  Christmas.  Before  the1 
second  term  she  had  managed  to  get  herself  trans 
ferred  into  a  class  of  her  contemporaries.  She  had 
never  studied  before^  because  in  old  times  it  had 


126  MANSLAUGHTER 

seemed  to  her  the  highest  achievement  lay  in  thwart 
ing  her  governesses.  But  the  instant  it  became  de 
sirable  to  attain  knowledge  she  found  no  difficulty 
in  attaining  it.  It  had  amused  her  studying  late  into 
the  night  when  Miss  Bennett  thought  she  was  asleep. 

In  the  same  way  she  had  decided  to  make  a  friend 
of  Eleanor,  who  was  a  class  above  her  and  promi 
nent  in  school  life.  There  had  been  nothing  senti 
mental  about  the  friendship.  She  had  admired 
Eleanor's  clear  mind  and  moral  courage  then,  just 
as  she  admired  them  now. 

It  was  of  that  little  girl  twisting  one  leg  about  the 
other  that  Eleanor  thought  now  with  a  warm  affec 
tion  that  the  later  Lydia  had  not  destroyed.  She 
ordered  her  car  and  drove  into  town  to  the  Thome 
house.  At  the  door  Morson  betrayed  just  the  proper 
solemnity  —  the  proper  additional  solemnity  —  for 
lie  was  never  gay. 

Yes,  Miss  Thome  was  in,  but  he  could  not  be  sure 
that  she  could  see  Miss  Bellington  at  the  moment. 
Mr.  Wiley  was  in  the  drawing-room. 

"Mr.  Wiley?"  said  Eleanor,  trying  to  remember. 

"The  lawyer,  madam." 

Eleanor  hesitated. 

"Tell  her  I'm  here,"  she  said,  and  presently  Mor 
son  came  back  and  conducted  her  to  the  drawing- 
room. 

Lydia's  drawing-room  was  brilliant  with  vermilion 
lacquer,  jade,  rock  crystal,  a  Chinese  painting  or  two 


MANSLAUGHTER  127 

and  huge  cushioned  armchairs  and  sofas.  Here  she 
and  Miss  Bennett  and  Mr.  Wiley  were  sitting  —  at 
least  Mr.  Wiley  and  Miss  Bennett  were  sitting,  and 
Lydia  was  standing,  playing  with  a  jade  dog  from 
the  mantelpiece,  pressing  its  cold  surface  against  her 
cheek. 

As  Eleanor  entered,  Lydia,  with  hardly  a  sound, 
did  a  thing  she  had  occasionally  seen  her  do  hef  ore  — 
she  suddenly  seemed  to  radiate  greeting  and  love  and 
gratitude.  Miss  Bennett  introduced  Mr.  Wiley. 

Wiley  had  established  his  position  early  in  life  — 
early  for  a  lawyer ;  so  now  at  fifty-eight  he  had  thirty 
years  of  crowded  practice  hehind  him.  In  the  nine 
ties,  a  young  man  of  thirty,  his  slim  frock-coated 
figure,  his  narrow,  fine  features  and  dark,  heavy  mus 
tache  were  familiar  in  most  important  court  cases, 
and  in  the  published  accounts  of  them  his  name 
always  had  a  prominent  place.  His  enemies  at  one 
time  had  been  contemptuous  of  his  legal  profundity 
and  had  said  that  he  was  more  of  an  actor  than,  a 
lawyer;  but  if  so  juries  seemed  to  be  more  swayed 
by  art  than  law,  for  Wiley  had  a  wonderful  record 
of  successes.  He  was  a  man  of  scrupulous  financial 
integrity  —  universally  desired  as  a  trustee  —  an  hon 
orable  gentleman,  a  leader  at  the  bar.  It  was  hard 
to  see  how  Lydia  could  be  in  better  hands.  He  might 
not  have  been  willing  to  undertake  her  case  but  for 
the  fact  that  he  had  been  her  father's  lawyer  and  was 
her  trustee.  He  had  a  thorough  familiarity,  attained 


128  MANSLAUGHTER 

through,  years  of  conflict  over  finances,  with  all  the 
problems  of  his  client's  disposition.  He  knew,  for 
instance,  that  she  would  be  absolutely  truthful  with 
him,  a  knowledge  a  lawyer  so  rarely  has  in  regard  to 
his  clients.  He  knew,  too,  that  she  might  carry  this 
quality  into  the  witness  chair  and  might  ruin  her  own 
case  with  the  jury.  He  was  a  man  accustomed  to 
being  listened  to,  and  he  was  being  listened  to  now. 

Eleanor  sat  down,  saying  she  was  sorry  if  she  inter 
rupted  them.  She  didn't.  Wiley  drew  her  in  and 
made  her  feel  one  of  the  conference. 

"I  had  really  finished  what  I  was  saying,"  he 
added. 

"I  only  wanted  to  know  if  the  situation  were  seri 
ous/'  said  Eleanor. 

"Serious,  Miss  Bellington  ?"  Wiley  looked  at  he? 
seriously.  "To  kill  a  human  being  while  violating 
the  law?" 

"Mr.  Wiley  considers  it  entirely  a  question  of  how 
the  case  is  managed/'  said  Lydia.  There  was  not  a 
trace  of  amusement  in  her  tone  or  her  expression. 

"To  be  absolutely  candid/'  Wiley  continued,  "andl 
Xydia  tells  me  she  wants  the  facts,  I  should  say  that 
if  juries  were  normal,  impartial,  unemotional  people 
Lydia  would  be  found  guilty  of  manslaughter  in  the 
second  degree  —  on  her  own  story.  Fortunately,  how 
ever,  the  collective  intelligence  of  a  jury  is  low;  and 
skillfully  managed,  the  case  of  a  beautiful  young 
orphan  may  be  made  very  appealing,  very  pathetic." 


MANSLAUGHTER  129 

"Pathos  has  never  been  my  strong  point,"  observed 
Lydia. 

"The  great  danger  is  her  own  attitude,"  said  Miss 
Bennett  to  Eleanor.  "She  doesn't  seem  to  care 
•whether  she's  convicted  or  not." 

Lydia  moved  her  shoulders  with  a  gesture  that 
confirmed  Miss  Bennett's  impression,  and  then  sud 
denly  turned. 

"I  don't  believe  you  want  me  for  a  few  minutes, 
[Mr.  Wiley.  I  want  to  speak- to  Eleanor." 

She  dragged  her  friend  away  with  her  to  her  own 
little  sitting  room  upstairs.  Here  her  calm  disap 
peared. 

"Aren't  lawyers  terrible,  Eleanor  ?  Here  I  am  — 
I've  killed  a  man!  Why  shouldn't  I  go  to  prison? 
I'm  not  quixotic.  I  didn't  want  to  be  convicted,  but 
[Wiley  shocks  me,  assuming  that  I  can't  be  because 
I'm  a  woman  and  rich  and  he  can  play  on  the  jury." 

"I  should  not  say  that  he  assumed  that  you  were 
safe,  Lydia." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  does !  Don't  be  like  Benny.  She  sees 
me  in  stripes  at  once.  What  Wiley  means  is  that  as 
long  as  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  have  the  benefit  of 
his  services  I'm  perfectly  safe,  not  because  I  did  not 
mean  to  kill  Drummond,  but  because  he,  Wiley,  will 
make  the  jury  cry  over  me.  Isn't  that  disgusting  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is,"  said  Eleanor. 

"Oh,  Eleanor,  you  are  such  a  comfort!"  said 
JLydia,  and  began  to  cry.  Eleanor  had  never  seen 


130  MANSLAUGHTER 

her  cry  before.  She  did  it  very  gently,  without  sobs, 
and  after  a  few  minutes  controlled  herself  again,  and 
tucked  away  her  handkerchief  and  said,  "Do  you 
think  everyone  would  hate  to  have  a  car  that  had 
killed  someone!  I  shall  never  drive  again,  and  yet 
I  couldn't  sell  it  —  couldn't  take  money  for  it.  Will 
you  accept  it,  Eleanor  ?  You  wouldn't  have  to  drive 
the  way  1  did,  you  know." 

Eleanor,  pleading  the  shortness  of  her  sight,  de 
clined  the  car. 

"You  ought  to  go  back  and  talk  to  Mr.  Wiley,  my; 
dear." 

Lydia  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"I  don't  care  much  what  happens  to  me,"  she  said. 

Eleanor  hesitated.  She  saw  suddenly  that  what  she 
was  about  to  say  was  the  principal  object  of  her  visit. 

"Lydia,  I  hope  that  you  will  come  out  all  right, 

but  you  don't  know  Dan  O'Bannon  as  I  do,  and 
?> 

"You  think  he  will  want  to  convict  me?" 
"Not  you  personally,  of  course.  But  he  believes 
in  the  law.  He  wants  to  believe  in  its  honesty  and 
equality.  He  suffered  last  month,  I  know,  in  convict 
ing  a  delivery-wagon  driver,  and  his  offense  wasn't 
half  as  flagrant  as  yours.  Oh,  Lydia,  have  some  im 
agination!  Don't  you  see  that  his  own  honor  and 
democracy  will  make  him  feel  it  more  his  duty  to 
convict  you  than  all  the  less  conspicuous  criminals 
put  together  ?" 


MANSLAUGHTER  131 

K  strange  change  had  taken  place  in  Ljdia  during 
this  speech.  At  the  beginning  of  it  she  had  been 
shrunk  into  a  corner  of  a  deep  chair ;  but  as  Eleanor 
spoke  life  seemed  to  be  breathed  into  her,  until  she 
sat  erect,  grew  tense,  and  finally  rose  to  her  feet. 

"You  mean  there  would  be  publicity,  political  ad 
vantage,  in  sending  a  person  in  my  position  to 
prison  ?" 

"Don't  be  perverse,  Lydia.  I  mean  that,  more 
than  most  men,  he  will  see  his  duty  is  to  treat  you  as 
he  would  any  criminal.  You  make  it  difficult  for  me 
to  tell  you  something  that  I  must  tell  you.  Mr. 
O'Bannon  feels,  I'm  afraid,  a  certain  amount  of 
antagonism  toward  you." 

A  staring,  insolent  silence  was  Lydia's  answer. 

Eleanor  went  on :  "Do  you  remember  after  dinner 
at  the  Piers'  you  told  me  about  the  policeman  you 
had  bribed  ?  You  asked  me  not  to  tell,  but  I'm  sorry 
—  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry — that  I  did  tell.  I  told 
Dan.  I  would  give  a  good  deal  if  I  hadn't,  but " 

"My  dear,"  Lydia  laughed,  but  without  friend 
liness,  "don't  distress  yourself.  What  difference  does 
it  make  ?  I  nearly  told  him  myself." 

"It  makes  a  great  deal  of  difference.  It  made 
him  furious  against  you.  He  felt  you  were  debauchr 
ing  a  young  man  trying  to  do  his  duty." 

"What  a  prig  you  make  that  man  out,  Eleanor! 
But  what  of  it?" 

"I   got   an   impression,    Lydia  —  I    don't    know 


132  MANSLAUGHTER 

how  —  that  it  turned  him  against  you ;  that  he  will 
be  less  inclined  to  be  pitiful." 

"Pitiful !"  cried  Lydia.  "Since  when  have  I  asked 
Dan  O'Bannon  for  pity  ?  Let  him  do  his  duty,  and 
my  lawyers  will  do  theirs;  and  let  me  tell  you, 
Eleanor,  you  and  he  will  be  disappointed  in  the 
results." 

Eleanor  said  firmly,  "I  think  you  must  take  back 
that  'you/  Lydia." 

Lydia  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Well,  you  say  your  friend  wants  to  convict  me, 
and  you  want  your  friend  to  succeed,  I  suppose. 
;That  is  success  for  him,  getting  people  to  prison,  isn't 
it?"  She  began  this  in  one  of  her  most  irritating 
tones ;  and  then  she  suddenly  repented  and,  putting 
her  hand  on  Eleanor's  shoulder,  she  added,  "Eleanor, 
I'm  all  on  edge.  Thank  you  a  lot  for  coming.  I 
think  I  will  go  back  and  tell  what  you've  said  to 
iold  Wiley." 

Eleanor  waited  to  telephone  to  Fanny  Piers  and 
Mrs.  Pulsifer,  knowing  it  would  be  wise  to  create  a 
little  favorable  public  opinion.  As  she  went  down 
stairs  the  drawing-room  door  opened  and  Miss  Ben 
nett  came  softly  out,  shutting  the  door  carefully  be- 
kind  her. 

"Thank  heaven  for  you,  Eleanor !"  she  said.  "You 
have  certainly  worked  a  miracle."  Eleanor  looked 
uncomprehending,  and  she  went  on:  "At  first  she 
was  so  naughty  to  poor  Mr.  Wiley  —  would  hardly 


MANSLAUGHTEK  133 

discuss  the  case  at  all;  but  now  since  you've  talked 
to  her  she  is  quite  different.  She  has  even  consented 
to  send  for  Governor  Albee  —  the  obvious  thing,  with 
his  friendship  and  political  power." 

Eleanor's  shouders  were  rather  high  anyhow,  and 
when  she  drew  them  together  she  looked  like  a  wooden 
soldier.  She  did  it  now  as  she  said  with  distaste, 
"But  is  this  a  question  of  politics  2" 

"My  dear,  you  know  the  district  attorney  is  a  polit 
ical  officer,  and  they  say  this  young  man  is  extremely 
ambitious.  Certainly  he  would  listen  —  he'd  have  to 
—  to  a  man  at  the  head  of  the  party  like  Albee.  I 
feel  much  easier  in  my  mind.  The  governor  can  do 
anything,  and  now  that  Lydia  has  come  to  her  senses 
she  is  determined  to  go  into  court  with  the  best  case 
possible,  and  you  know  how  clever  she  is.  Thank 
you,  Eleanor,  for  all  you  have  done  for  us." 

Like  many  workers  of  miracles,  Eleanor  went  away 
surprised  at  her  own  powers.  The  idea  of  O'Bannon 
being  coerced  or  rewarded  into  letting  Lydia  off  gave 
her  exquisite  pain.  She  felt  like  warning  him  to  do 
his  duty,  even  if  it  meant  Lydia's  being  found  guilty. 
Yet  she  sincerely  wanted  Lydia  saved  —  meant  to  go 
as  far  as  she  could  to  save  her.  She  knew  with  what 
a  perfect  surface  of  honesty  such  things  could  be 
done;  how  a  district  attorney,  while  from  the  pub 
lic's  point  of  view  prosecuting  a  case  with  the  utmost 
vigor,  might  leave  open  some  wonderful  technical 
escape  for  the  defense.  It  could  be  done  without 


MANSLAUGHTER 

O'Bannon  losing  an  atom  of  public  respect.  But 
she,  Eleanor,  would  know;  would  know  as  she  saw 
him  conducting  the  case;  would  know  when  a  year 
or  so  later,  after  everyone  else  had  forgotten,  he 
would  receive  his  reward  —  some  political  appoint 
ment  or  perhaps  a  financial  chairmanship.  Alhee 
had  great  powers  in  business  as  well  as  politics.  In 
her  own  mind  she  formulated  the  words,  "I  have  the 
utmost  confidence  in  O'Bannon."  But  she  knew,  too, 
how  all  people  of  passionate,  quick  temperaments  are 
sometimes  swept  by  their  own  desires,  and  how  easily 
most  lawyers  could  find  rational  grounds  for  taking 
the  position  they  desired  to  take.  It  would  be  so  nat-. 
nral  for  any  man  under  the  plea  of  pity  for  a  young 
woman  like  Lydia  to  allow  himself  to  be  subtly  cor 
rupted  into  letting  her  off. 

Eleanor's  own  position  was  not  simple.  She  faced 
it  clearly.  She  was  for  Lydia,  whatever  happened, 
as  far  as  her  conduct  went;  but  in  spite  of  herself 
her  sympathies  swung  to  and  fro,  When  women  like 
Fanny  Piers  and  May  Swayne  said,  with  a  certain 
relish  they  couldn  t  keep  out  of  their  tones  and  re 
luctant  dimples  at  the  corners  of  their  mouths,  ''Isn't 
this  too  dreadful  about  poor  Lydia  P  then  she  was 
whole-heartedly  Lydia's,  But  when  she  detected  in 
all  her  friends  —  except  Bobby,  who  was  frankly 
frightened  —  the  belief  that  they  were  beyond  the 
law,  that  nothing  could  happen  to  any  member  of 
their  protected*  group,  then  she  felt  she  would  enjojr 


MANSLAUGHTER  135 

nothing  so  much  as  seeing  one  of  them  prove  an  ex 
ception  to  the  general  immunity. 

The  coroner  held  Lydia  for  the  grand  jury  in  ten 
thousand  dollars'  bail.  This  had  been  considered  a 
foregone  conclusion  and  did  not  particularly  distress 
or  alarm  Eleanor.  What  did  alarm  her  was  her  ina 
bility  to  get  in  touch  with  O'Bannon.  In  all  the 
months  of  their  quick,  intimate  friendship  this  had 
never  happened  before.  Press  of  business  had  never 
kept  him  entirely  away.  Now  she  could  not  even 
get  him  to  come  to  the  telephone. 

She  was  not  the  only  person  who  was  attempting 
to  see  him  on  Lydia's  behalf.  Bobby  Dorset  had 
made  several  efforts,  and  finally  caught  him  between 
the  courthouse  and  his  office.  Bobby  took  the  tone 
that  the  whole  thing  was  fantastic;  that  O'Bannon 
was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  send  any  girl  to  prison, 
irritating  the  man  he  had  come  to  placate  by  some 
thing  frivolous  and  unreal  in  his  manner  —  the  only 
manner  Bobby  knew. 

And  then  as  Lydia's  case  grew  darker  Albee  came. 
O'Bannon  was  in  his  study  at  home,  the  low-cellinged 
room  opening  off  the  dining  room.  It  had  a  great 
flat  baize-covered  desk,  and  low  open  shelves  running 
round  the  walls,  containing  not  only  law  books,  but 
novels  and  early  favorites  —  Henty  and  Lorna  Doona 
and  many  records  of  travel  and  adventure. 

Here  he  was  sitting,  supposed  to  be  at  work  on  the 
Thorne  case,  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Cer- 


136  MANSLAUGHTER 

tainly  his  mind  was  occupied  with  it  and  the  papers 
were  laid  out  before  him.  He  was  going  over  and 
over,  the  same  treadmill  that  his  mind  had  been 
chained  to  ever  since  he  had  stood  by  Drummond's 
bedside  with  Alma  Wooley  clinging,  weeping,  to  his 
hand. 

Lydia  Thorne  had  committed  a  crime,  and  his  duty 
was  to  present  the  case  against  the  criminal.  Some 
times  of  course  a  district  attorney  was  justified  in  tak 
ing  into  consideration  extenuating  circumstances  which 
eould  not  always  be  brought  out  in  court.  But  in  this 
case  there  were  no  extenuating  circumstances.  Every 
circumstance  he  knew  was  against  her.  Her  char 
acter  was  harsh  and  arrogant.  She  had  already  vio 
lated  the  law  in  bribing  Drummond.  First  she  had 
corrupted  the  poor  boy,  and  then  she  had  killed  him. 
She  deserved  punishment  more  than  most  of  the 
criminals  who  came  into  his  court,  and  his  duty  was 
to  present  the  case  against  her.  He  repeated  it  over 
and  over  to  himself.  Why,  he  was  half  a  crook  to 
consider  this  case  as  different  from  any  other  case  — 
and  if  she  did  get  off  she  wouldn't  be  grateful.  She'd 
just  assume  that  there  had  not  been  and  never  could 
be  any  question  of  convicting  a  woman  like  herself. 
He  remembered  her  bending  to  look  at  him  under  the 
candle  shades  of  the  Piers'  dinner  table  and  announc 
ing  her  disbelief  in  the  equal  administration  of  the 
laws.  But  yet,  if  she  should  come  to  him  —  if  she 
would  only  come  to  him,  pleading  for  herself  as 


MANSLAUGHTEK  137 

she  had  once  for  a  few  minutes  pleaded  for  Evans 

He  could  almost  see  her  there  in  the  circle  of 

his  reading  light,  close  to  him  —  could  almost  smell 
the  perfume  of  violets.  . 

"I  hope  to  God  she  doesn't  come,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  and  desired  it  more  than  anything  in  life. 

At  that  very  moment  the  doorbell  rang.  O'Ban- 
non's  heart  began  to  beat  till  it  hurt  him.  If  she 
were  there  he  must  see  her,  and  if  he  saw  her  he 
must  again  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  if  —  it  was  his 
duty  to  present  the  case  against  her. 

There  was  a  knock  on  his  door,  and  his  mother 
entered  ushering  in  Governor  Albee.  Great  and  wise 
men  came  from  East  and  West  to  see  her  son,  her 
manner  seemed  to  say. 

"Well,  O'Bannon,"  said  the  governor,  "I  haven't 
seen  you  since  —  let  me  see  —  the  1916  convention, 
wasn't  it?" 

The  younger  man  pulled  himself  together.  He 
was  not  a  politician  for  nothing,  and  he  had  control, 
almost  automatically,  of  a  simple,  friendly  manner. 

"But  I've  seen  you,  governor,"  he  answered.  "I 
went  in  the  other  day  to  hear  your  cross-examination 
on  that  privileged-communication  point.  I  learned 
a  lot.  We're  all  infants  compared  with  you  when  it 
comes  to  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Oh"  —  Albee  gave  one  of  his  straight-armed  waves 
of  the  hand  —  "everyone  tells  me  you  have  your  own 
method  of  getting  the  facts.  I  hear  very  fine  things 


138  MANSLAUGHTER 

of  you,  O'Bannon.  There's  an  impression  that  Prin 
cess  County  will  soon  be  looking  for  another  dis 
trict  attorney." 

Mrs.  O'Bannon  stole  reluctantly  away,  closing  the 
door  behind  her.  The  two  men  went  on  flattering 
each  other,  as  each  might  have  flattered  a  woman. 
Both  were  now  aware  that  a  serious  situation  was 
before  them.  They  began  to  talk  of  the  great  party 
to  which  they  belonged.  The  governor  mentioned 
his  personal  responsibility  —  by  which  he  meant  his 
personal  power — as  a  national  committeeman.  He 
spoke  of  an  interview  with  the  leader  of  the  party  in 
!N"ew  York  —  the  purveyor  of  great  positions. 

"He's  going  to  put  the  chairmanship  of  this  new 
commission  up  to  me.  It's  not  so  much  financially  — 
seventy-five  hundred  —  but  the  opportunity,  the  rep 
utation  a  fellow  might  make.  It  needs  a  big  man, 
and  yet  a  young  one.  I'm  for  putting  in  a  young 


man." 


That  was  all.  The  governor  began  after  that  to 
speak  of  his  coming  campaign  for  the  Senate,  but 
O'Bannon  knew  now  exactly  why  he  had  come.  He 
had  come  to  offer  him  a  bribe.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  he  had  been  offered  a  bribe.  He  remembered 
a  family  of  Italians  who  had  come  to  him  frankly 
with  all  their  savings  in  a  sincere  belief  that  that  was 
the  only  way  to  save  a  son  and  brother.  They  had 
gone  away  utterly  unable  to  understand  why  their 
offering  had  been  rejected,  but  with  a  confused  im- 


MANSLAUGHTER  139 

pression  that  district  attorneys  in  America  came  too 
high  for  them.  He  had  not  felt  any  anger  against 
their  simple  effort  at  corruption  —  only  pity ;  but  a 
sudden  furious  anger  swept  him  against  Albee,  so 
smooth,  so  self-satisfied.  Unanalytic,  like  most  hot- 
blooded  people  —  who  in  the  tumult  of  their  emotions 
are  too  much  occupied  to  analyze  and  when  the  tumult 
ceases  are  unable  to  believe  it  ever  existed —  O'Bannon 
did  not  understand  the  sequence  of  his  emotions.  For 
an  instant  he  was  angry,  and  then  he  felt  a  sort  of 
desperate  relief.  At  least  the  question  of  his  attitude 
in  the  case  was  settled.  "Now  he  must  prosecute  to 
the  utmost  of  his  ability.  One  couldn't  let  a  sleek, 
crooked  old  politician  go  through  the  world  thinking 
that  he  had  bribed  you  —  one  couldn't  be  bribed. 

He  leaned  his  brow  on  his  hand,  shielding  his  whole 
face  from  the  light,  while  he  drew  patterns  on  the 
blotting  paper  with  a  dry  pen.  The  governor  broke 
off  with  an  appearance  of  spontaneity. 

"But  I  mustn't  run  on  like  this  about  my  own 
affairs,"  he  said.  "I  came,  as  perhaps  you  guessed, 
about  this  unfortunate  affair  of  poor  Miss  Thome.  I 
don't  know  if  you  know  her  personally " 

He  paused.  He  really  could  not  remember.  He 
believed  Lydia  had  mentioned  having  seen  the  man 
somewhere. 

"I've  met  her  once  or  twice,"  said  O'Bannon. 

"Well,  if  you've  seen  her  you  know  that  she's  a  rare 
and  beautiful  creature ;  but  if  you  don't  know  her  you 


140  MANSLAUGHTER 

don't  know  how  sensitive  she  is ;  sheltered  and  proud ; 
doesn't  show  her  deep,  human  feelings." 

A  slight  movement  of  the  district  attorney's  hand 
brought  his  mouth  and  chin  into  the  area  of  illumina 
tion.  Their  expression  was  not  agreeable. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  must  own  I  did  not  get  all  that." 

"This  whole  thing  is  almost  killing  her,"  Albee 
went  on.  "Really  I  believe  that  if  she  has  to  go  into 
court  —  well,  of  course  she  must  go  into  court,  poor 
child,  and  hear  it  all  gone  over  and  over  before  a  jury. 
Imagine  how  anyone  —  you  or  I  would  feel  if  we  had 
killed  a  man,  and  then  add  a  young  woman's  natural 
sensitiveness  and  pity.  You  can  guess  what  she  is 
going  through.  I've  sat  with  her  for  hours.  It's  piti 
ful —  simply  pitiful.  Anything  you  can  do,  O'Ban- 
non,  that  will  make  it  easier  for  her  I  shall  take  as 
a  personal  favor  to  me,  a  favor  I  shall  never  forget, 
believe  me." 

The  governor  smiled  his  human,  all-embracing 
smile,  almost  like  a  priest.  There  was  a  moment's 
silence.  Albee's  experience  was  that  there  usually 
was  a  moment  while  the  idea  sank  in. 

Then  the  younger  man  asked  with  great  delibera 
tion,  "Just  what  is  your  interest  in  this  case, 
Governor  Albee  ?" 

Perfectly  calm  himself,  Albee  noted  with  some 
amusement  the  strain  in  the  other's  tone.  He  had 
expected  the  question  —  a  natural  one.  It  was  natural 
the  fellow  should  wish  to  be  assured  that  the  favor  he 


<*          MANSLAUGHTER  141 

was  about  to  do  was  a  real  one,  a  substantial  one, 
something  that  would  be  remembered.  He  would  be 
taking  a  certain  chance,  considering  the  newspaper 
interest  and  all  the  local  resentment  over  the  case. 
Reelection  might  be  rendered  impossible.  Albee 
thought  to  himself  that  Lydia  would  forgive  a  slight 
exaggeration  of  the  bond  between  them  if  that  exag 
geration  served  to  set  her  free. 

"Well,  that's  rather  an  intimate  question,  Mister 
District  Attorney,"  he  said.  "To  most  people  I 
should  answer  that  she  is  a  lady  whom  I  esteem  and 
admire ;  but  to  you  —  in  strictest  confidence  —  I  don't 
mind  saying  that  I  have  every  hope  and  expectation  of 
making  her  my  wife."  And  he  added  less  solemnly, 
"What  are  you  young  fellows  thinking  of  to  let  an 
old  man  like  me  get  ahead  of  you,  eh  ?"  Eending 
forward  he  slapped  the  other  man  on  the  shoul 
der. 

O'Bannon  stood  up  as  if  a  mighty  hand  had  reached 
from  the  ceiling  and  pulled  him  upright.  The  action 
was  all  that  was  left  of  the  primitive  impulse  to  wring 
'Albee's  neck. 

"There  is  nothing  I  can  do  to  help  Miss  Thome," 
he  said.  "You  know  enough  about  criminal  pro 
cedure  to  know  that  The  case  against  her  is  very] 
strong." 

"Oh?  very  strong  —  in  the  newspapers,"  said  the 
governor  with  another  of  his  waves  of  his  hand.  "But 
mustn't  let  your  cases  be  tried  in  the  newspapers. 


142  MANSLAUGHTEK 

I  always  made  it  a  rule  never  to  let  the  newspapers 
influence  me  in  a  case." 

"I  have  a  better  rule  than  that,"  said  the  other.  "I 
don't  let  anything  influence  me  except  the  facts  in  the 
case."  He  was  still  standing,  and  Albee  now  rose  too. 

"I  see,"  he  said,  not  quite  so  suavely  as  before. 
"You  mean  you  go  ahead  your  own  way  and  don't 
mind  making  enemies." 

"I  sometimes  like  it,"  answered  O'Bannon. 

"Making  them  is  all  right,"  Albee  looked  right  at 
him.  "Taking  the  consequences  of  doing  so  isn't 
always  so  enjoyable.  Good  night." 

When  the  sound  of  the  governor's  motor  had  died 
away  O'Bannon  went  back  to  his  desk.  His  mother 
had  long  ago  gone  upstairs,  and  the  house  was  quiet. 
Disgust  and  anger  were  like  a  poison  in  his  veins.  So 
that  vile,  sleek  old  man  was  to  have  her  ?  Love  was 
out  of  the  question  ?  She  did  not  even  have  the  excuse 
of  needing  money!  What  a  loathsome  bargain! 
[What  a  loathsome  woman !  To  think  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  be  stirred  by  her  beauty?  He  wouldn't 
touch  her  with  his  little  finger  now  if  she  were  the  last 
woman  in  the  world.  Albee?  Good  God!  There 
must  be  thirty-five  years  between  them.  Someone 
ought  to  stop  it.  She  would  be  better  in  prison  than 
giving  herself  to  an  old  man  like  that.  She  was  no 
ignorant  child.  She  knew  what  she  was  doing.  If 
he  were  the  girl's  brother  or  father  he'd  rather  see  her 
dead. 


MANSLAUGHTER  143 

It  was  after  midnight  when  he  set  to  work  on  the 
papers  in  the  case.  He  worked  all  night.  The  old 
servant  bringing  Mrs.  O'Bannon  her  breakfast  in  the 
early  morning  reported  Mr.  Dan  as  being  up  and 
away.  He  had  come  into  the  kitchen  at  six  for  a  cup 
of  coffee,  his  face  as  white  as  that  sheet  and  his  eyes 
nearly  out  of  his  head. 

This  was  the  afternoon  that  Eleanor  selected  to  take 
the  matter  into  her  own  hands  and  come  to  his  office. 
She  came  late  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  after  six.  She 
saw  his  car  standing  in  the  street  and  she  knew  he  was 
still  there.  She  went  in  past  the  side  entrance  to  Mr. 
.Wooley's  shop,  up  the  worn  wooden  stairs,  through, 
the  glass  door  with  its  gold  letters,  "Office  of  the  Dis 
trict  Attorney  of  Princess  County."  The  stenogra 
phers  and  secretaries  had  gone.  Their  desks  were 
empty,  their  typewriters  hooded.  O'Bannon  was 
standing  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  his 
hat  and  overcoat  on,  as  if  he  had  been  caught  by  some 
disagreeable  thought  just  in  the  moment  of  departure. 

Eleanor's  step  made  no  sound  on  the  stairs.  He 
looked  up  in  surprise  as  she  opened  the  door,  and  as 
•their  eyes  met  she  knew  clearly  that  he  did  not  want 
to  see  her.  There  was  something  almost  brutal  in  the 
way  that  he  looked  at  her  and  then  looked  away  again, 
as  if  he  hoped  she  might  be  gone  when  he  looked  back. 
If  she  had  come  on  her  own  business  she  would  have 
gone.  As  it  was,  she  couldn't.  She  came  in,  and  clos 
ing  the  door  behind  her  she  leaned  against  the  handle. 


144:  MANSLAUGHTER 

"I'm  sorry  to  bother  yon,  Dan,"  she  said,  "but  I 
must  talk  to  you  about  Lydia  Thome." 

"Miss  Thome's  friends  are  doing  everything  they 
can  to  prevent  the  preparation  of  a  case  against 
her.  They  take  all  my  time  in  interviews,"  he 
answered. 

"Who  else  has  been  here  ?"  asked  Eleanor  with  a 
sinking  heart. 

"Oh,  Bobby  Dorset  has  been  here.  That  interview 
was  brief." 

"And  Governor  AlbeeT 

O'Bannon  looked  at  her  with  eyes  that  suddenly 
flared  up  like  torches. 

"Yes,  the  old  fox,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  pause  during  which  Eleanor  did  not 
say  a  word,  but  her  whole  being,  body  and  mind,  was 
a  question ;  and  O'Bannon,  though  he  had  become  this 
strange,  hostile  creature,  was  yet  enough  her  old 
friend  to  answer  it. 

"If  you  have  any  influence  with  Miss  Thorne  tell 
her  to  keep  politics  out  of  it  —  to  get  a  good  lawyer 
and  to  prepare  a  good  case." 

Eleanor  saw  that  Albee's  mission  had  failed.  She 
would  have  rejoiced  at  this,  except  that  the  hostility 
of  O'Bannon's  manner  hurt  her  beyond  the  power  of 
rejoicing.  She  was  not  like  Lydia  —  stimulated  by 
enmity.  She  felt  wounded  and  chilled  by  it.  She 
told  herself,  as  women  always  do  in  these  circum 
stances,  that  there  was  nothing  personal  about  his 


MANSLAUGHTER  145 

attitude,  but  there  was  something  terribly  per 
sonal  in  her  not  being  able  to  change  his  black  mood. 

"She  has  a  good  lawyer  —  Wiley.  Who  can  be 
better  than  Wiley  ?"  she  asked. 

"He's  often  successful,  I  believe." 

He  began  snapping  out  the  light  over  the  desk  —  a 
hint  not  too  subtle.  Eleanor  started  twice  to  say  that 
most  people  believed  that  no  jury  would  convict  a  girl 
like  Lydia,  but  every  phrase  she  thought  of  sounded 
like  a  challenge.  They  went  downstairs.  Ordinarily 
lie  would  have  offered  to  drive  her  home,  although  her 
own  car  was  waiting  for  her.  !N"ow  he  took  off  his 
soft  hat  and  was  actually  turning  away  when  she 
jcaught  him  by  the  sleeve.  His  arm  remained  limp, 
almost  humanly  sulky,  in  her  grasp. 

"I've  never  known  you.  like  this  before,  Dan,"  she 
said. 

"You  must  do  me  the  justice  to  say,"  he  answered, 
"that  lately  I  have  done  my  best  to  keep  out  of  your 
way." 

Eleanor  dropped  his  arm  and  he  started  to  move 
away. 

"Tell  me  one  thing,"  she  said.  "The  grand  jurjr 
.will  indict  her  ?" 

"It  will." 

She  nodded. 

"That  is  what  Mr.  Wiley  thinks." 

"And  he  also  thinks,  I  suppose,"  said  O'Bannon, 
"that  no  jury  will  convict  her  ?" 


146  MANSLAUGHTER 

"And  what  do  you  think  2" 

"I  think,"  he  answered,  so  slowly  that  each  word 
fell  clearly,  "that  a  conviction  can  be  had  and  that  I 
shall  get  it." 

Eleanor  did  not  answer.  The  chauffeur  was  hold 
ing  open  the  door  of  her  car,  and  she  walked  forward 
and  got  into  it.  She  had  learned  the  thing  she  had 
come  to  learn  —  a  knowledge  that  the  stand  he  took 
was  an  honorable  one.  She  was  glad  that  his  hands 
were  clean,  but  in  her  left  side  her  heart  ached  like 
a  tooth.  He  seemed  a  stranger  to  her  —  unfriendly, 
remote,  remote  as  a  man  struggling  in  a  whirlpool 
would  be  remote  from  even  the  friendliest  spectator 
on  the  bank. 

A  few  days  later  the  grand  jury  found  a  true  bill 
against  Lydia.  That  was  no  surprise  even  to  her 
friends.  Wiley  and  Albee  had  both  prepared  her  for 
that.  The  crime  for  which  she  was  indicted,  however^, 
came  as  a  shock.  It  was  manslaughter  in  the  first 
degree.  Albee  was,  or  affected  to  be,  pleased.  It 
proved  they  were  bluffing,  he  said. 

"It  may  cost  you  a  little  more  on  Wiley's  bill,"  he 
said.  "It  costs  a  little  more,  I  suppose,  to  be  acquitted 
of  manslaughter  than  of  criminal  negligence ;  but  on 
the  other  hand  it  may  save  you  a  thousand-dollar  fine. 
A  jury  might  conceivably  find  you  guilty  of  a  crime 
for  which  you  could  be  fined,  but  not  of  one  for  which 
the  only  punishment  is  imprisonment." 

Bobby  thought  the  indictment  showed  conclusively 


MANSLAUGHTEK  147 

.that  there  was  some  crooked  work  going  on,  and 
wanted  the  district  attorney's  office  investigated.  Most 
of  Lydia's  friends  began  to  feel  that  this  was  really 
carrying  the  thing  too  far. 

Thus  New  York. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Wide  Plains  it  was  gener 
ally  known  that  O'Bannon  and  Foster  were  working 
early  and  late,  and  that  the  district  attorney's  office 
out  to  get  a  Conviction  in  the  Thorne  case. 


CHAPTER  IS 

HERRICK" 
"Here." 

"William  P.  McCaw  —  I  beg  your  pardon  — 
[McCann." 

"Here." 

"Royal  B.  Eislier.  Mr.  Eisher,  you  were  not  in 
(court  yesterday.  Well,  you  did  not  answer  the  roll. 
Gentlemen,  if  you  do  not  answer  when  your  names 
are  called  I  shall  give  your  names  to  the  court  officer. 
Grover  C.  Wilbur." 

"Here." 

The  county  court  room  with  its  faded  red  carpet 
and  shabby  woodwork  had  the  dignity  of  proportion 
which  marks  rooms  built  a  hundred  years  ago  under 
the  solemn  Georgian  tradition. 

Miss  Bennett  and  Eleanor,  guided  by  Judge 
Homans7  secretary,  came  in  through  a  side  door,  and 
passing  the  large  American  flag  which  hung  above  the 
judge's  empty  chair,  they  sat  down  in  some  cross  seats 
on  the  left.  Beyond  the  railing  the  room  was  already 
well  filled  with  the  new  panel  of  jurors,  the  witnesses, 
the  reporters  and  many  of  Lydia's  friends,  who  were 
already  jostling  for  places. 

The  clerk  of  the  court,  immediately  in  front  of  the 
148 


MANSLAUGHTER  149 

judge's  bench,  but  on  a  lower  level,  having  finished 
calling  the  roll,  was  busily  writing,  writing,  his  well- 
brushed  red-and-silver  head  bent  so  low  over  his  great 
sheets  that  the  small  bare  spot  on  top  was  presented  to 
the  court  room.  For  one  moment  he  and  a  tall  attend 
ant  had  become  human  and  friendly  over  the  fact  that 
the  counsel  table  was  not  on  all  fours,  and  the  day 
before  had  rocked  under  the  thundering  fist  of  the 
lawyer  in  the  last  case.  Eut  as  soon  as  it  was  stabil 
ized  with  little  wads  of  paper  both  men  returned  to 
their  accustomed  solemnity,  the  clerk  to  his  lists  and 
the  attendant,  standing  erect  at  the  railing,  to  viewing 
the  unusual  crowd  and  exclaiming  at  intervals  "Find1 
seats  —  sit  down  —  find  seats/'  which  was,  of  course, 
Just  what  everybody  was  trying  to  do. 

Foster  came  in  hurriedly  with  a  stack  of  large 
manila  envelopes  in  his  hand.  He  bowed  nervously 
to  Miss  Bennett  and  sat  down  just  in  front  of  her 
[with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  door. 

The  court  stenographer  came  in  and  took  his  place, 
laid  his  neatly  sharpened  pencils  beside  his  open  book, 
yawned  and  threw  his  arm  over  the  back  of  his  chair. 
He  seemed  indifferent  as  to  what  story  of  human 
frailty  was  by  means  of  his  incredible  facility  about 
to  be  transferred  to  the  records 

Yet  he  was  not  wholly  without  human  curiosity, 
for  presently  he  leaned  over  to  the  clerk  and  whis 
pered,  "What  did  the  jury  find  in  that  abduction 
case?" 


150  MANSLAUGHTER 

"Acquitted." 

"Well,  well!" 

The  two  men  exchanged  a  glance  that  betrayed  that 
In  their  opinion  jurors  and  criminals  were  pretty 
much  on  the  same  level. 

A  faint  stir  in  the  court,  an  anticipatory  cry  from 
the  attendant  of  "Order,  order,"  and  Lydia  and  Wiley 
came  in  and  sat  down  side  by  side  at  the  corner  of  the 
long  table  —  now  perfectly  steady.  Lydia  looked  pale 
and  severe.  She  had  devoted  a  great  deal  of  thought 
to  her  dress,  not  through  vanity,  but  because  dress  was 
an  element  in  winning  her  case.  She  was  dressed  as 
simply  as  possible,  without  being  theatrically  simple. 
She  wore  a  dark  serge  and  a  black-winged  hat.  She 
nodded  to  Foster,  smiled  at  Miss  Bennett  and 
Eleanor.  She  began  looking  coolly  about  her.  She 
had  never  been  in  court,  and  the  setting  interested  her. 
It  was  a  good  deal  like  a  theater,  she  thought  —  the 
railed-off  space  represented  the  stage  where  all  action 
was  to  take  place,  the  judge's  raised  bench  occupying 
the  dominating  position  back  center,  the  jury  box  on 
her  right  with  its  two  tiers  of  seats,  the  witness  chair 
on  its  high  platform  and  between*  the  judge  and  the 
jury.  Close  to  the  railing  and  at  right  angles  to  the 
jury  box,  the  eight-foot-long  counsel  table,  where  she 
and  Wiley  had  taken  their  places  with  their  backs  to 
the  spectators  outside  the  railing,  were  so  exactly  like 
a  theatrical  audience.  Then  a  gavel  beat  sharply. 
Everyone  stood  up  almost  before  being  directed  to  do 


MANSLAUGHTER  151 

so,  and  Judge  Homans  came  into  court.  He  came 
slowly  through  the  side  door,  his  hands  folded  in  front 
of  him,  his  robes  flowing  about  him,  as  a  priest  comes 
from  the  sacristy. 

The  judge,  like  the  clerk,  immediately  became 
absorbed  in  writing.  Foster  sprang  up  and  stood  at 
his  desk  talking  to  him,  but  he  never  raised  his  head. 
[Foster  kept  glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  the  door. 
Lydia  knew  for  whom  he  was  watching  —  like  a  puppy; 
for  its  supper,  she  thought. 

A  voice  rang  out : 

"The  case  of  the  People  against  Lydia  Thorne. 
£ydia  Thorne  to  the  bar." 

To  Lydia  the  words  suggested  an  elaborate  game. 
She  glanced  at  Miss  Bennett,  suppressing  a  smile,  and 
saw  that  her  companion's  nerves  were  shaken  by;  the 
sinister  sound  of  them.  Wiley  rose. 

"Ready  —  for  the  defense,"  he  said. 

Foster,  with  his  eyes  still  on  the  door,  murmured 
;with  less  conviction,  "Ready  —  for  the  people." 

The  clerk,  laying  aside  his  pen,  had  begun  to  take 
the  names  of  the  jurors  out  of  the  box  at  his  elbow. 

"Josiah  Howell." 

"Seat  Number  1,"  echoed  the  attendant  antiphon- 
ally. 

"Thomas  Peck." 

"Seat  Number  2." 

[Wiley,  bending  to  Lydia's  ear,  whispered,  "I  want 
tgou  to  challenge  freely  —  anyone  you  feel  might  be 


152  MANSLAUGHTER 

antagonistic.  I  trust  to  your  woman's  intuition.  The 
jury  is  the  important " 

She  ceased  to  hear  him,  for  she  saw  Foster's  face 
light  up  and  she  knew  that  at  last  the  district  attorney 
was  in  court.  She  recognized  his  step  behind  her, 
and  almost  immediately  his  tall  figure  came  within 
range  of  her  vision.  He  sat  down  on  the  left  next  to 
Foster,  crossed  his  arms,  fixed  his  eyes  on  each  juror 
who  entered  the  box.  It  was  to  Lydia  like  the  rising 
of  the  curtain  on  a  great  play. 

"William  McCann." 

"Seat  Number  12." 

The  jury  was  complete. 

O'Bannon  unfolded  his  long  person  and  rose. 
Crossing  the  space  in  front  of  Lydia,  he  came  and 
stood  in  front  of  the  jury,  looking  from  one  to  another, 
asking  routine  questions,  but  with  a  grave  attention 
that  made  them  seem  spontaneous.  Did  any  of  them 
know  the  defendant  or  her  counsel  ?  Had  any  of  them 
ever  been  arrested  for  speeding  ?  Had  anyone  of  them 
ever  injured  anyone  with  an  automobile  ? 

To  Lydia  his  whole  personality  seemed  different  — •. 
more  aggressive,  more  hostile.  When,  in  speaking,  he 
put  out  his  fist  she  noticed  the  powerful  bulk  of  hig 
hand,  the  strength  of  his  wrist.  She  could  not  see 
his  face,  for  he  stood  with  shoulder  turned  to  her,  but 
she  could  see  the  upturned  faces  of  the  jurors. 

Number  10  was  in  the  automobile  business,  and 
was  excused.  Number  2  admitted  a  slight  acquaint- 


MANSLAUGHTEK  153 

ance  with  tlie  defendant,  though  Lydia  couldn't 
remember  him  and  was  inclined  to  think  he  was 
merely  escaping  duty.  Number  5,  in  the  midst  of  the 
interrogation,  suddenly  volunteered  the  information 
that  he  was  conscientiously  opposed  to  capital  pun 
ishment. 

At  this  the  judge  looked  up  from  his  writing  and 
said  loudly,  "But  this  isn't  a  capital-punishment 
case." 

"JSTo,  no,  I  know,"  said  Number  5  apologetically. 
"I  just  thought  I'd  mention  it." 

"Don't  mention  anything  that  has  no  bearing  on  the 
case,"  said  the  judge,  and  went  back  to  his  writing. 

At  noon,  when  the  court  adjourned,  the  jury  was 
not  yet  satisfactory  to  the  prosecution. 

Lydia,  Miss  Bennett  and  Wiley  drove  over  to 
Eleanor's  for  luncheon.  Of  the  three  women  Lydia 
was  the  gayest. 

"He  really  does  —  that  man  really  does  expect  to 
put  me  behind  bars,"  she  said. 

"The  prospect  apparently  puts  you  in  the  highest 
spirits,"  said  Eleanor. 

Lydia  laughed,  showing  her  bright,  regular  little 
teeth. 

"I  do  like  a  good  fight,"  she  answered. 

That  was  the  way  she  thought  of  it  —  as  a  personal 
struggle  between  the  district  attorney  and  herself. 
Since  that  first  interview  Wiley  had  no  indifference 
to  complain  of.  On  the  contrary,  he  complimented 


154:  MANSLAUGHTER 

her  on  her  grasp  of  the  case  —  she  ought  to  have  been 
a  lawyer.  She  had  put  every  fact  at  his  disposal  — 
every  fact  that  had  any  bearing  on  the  case.  She  did 
not  consider  the  exact  nature  of  her  former  acquaint 
ance  with  O'Bannon  among  these;  that  is  to  say,  she 
mentioned  that  she  had  once  met  him  at  the  Piers'  and 
played  bridge  with  him.  She  .added  that  Eleanor  felt 
he  had  taken  a  dislike  to  her.  Wiley  said  nothing,  but 
imagined  that  she  might  have  played  queen  to  a  coun 
try  attorney  —  irritating,  of  course. 

About  everything  else,  however,  she  went  into  de 
tails  — especially  about  the  bribing  of  Drummond, 
over  which  she  apparently  felt  no  shame  at  all.  Both 
Albee  and  Wiley,  who  were  often  together  in  consulta 
tion  with  her,  were  horrified  —  not  so  much  at  her  hav 
ing  done  it  as  at  her  feeling  no  remorse.  Wiley  spoke 
as  her  lawyer.  Albee,  more  human,  more  amused/ 
shook  his  head. 

"Really,  my  dear  young  lady,  bribery  of  a  police 
officer " 

"Oh,  come,  governor,"  said  Lydia.  "This  from 
you!" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  I  never  offered  a 
man  a  bribe  in  all  my  life,"  said  the  governor  earn 
estly. 

"And  exactly  what  did  you  say  to  Mr.  O'Bannon  in 
your  recent  interview  ?" 

Wiley  and  Albee  protested,  more  as  if  she  were 
breaking  the  rules  of  a  game  than  as  if  she  were  say- 


MANSLAUGHTER  155 

ing  anything  contrary  to  fact.  Albee  explained  at 
some  length  that  when  a  man  was  behaving  wrongly 
through  self-interest  —  which  was,  of  course,  what  the 
district  attorney  was  doing  —  it  was  perfectly  permis 
sible  to  show  him  that  self-interest  might  lie  along 
opposite  lines.  Lydia,  unconvinced  by  this  explana 
tion,  would  do  nothing  but  laugh  annoyingly.  At 
this  both  men  turned  on  her,  explaining  that  if  the 
bracelet  could  be  got  in  evidence,  if  it  could  be  shown 
that  she  had  bribed  the  man  whom  she  later  killed,  the 
case  would  go  against  her. 

"Oh,  but  they  can't  get  it  in,"  said  Albee,  "not 
unless  you  fall  asleep,  counselor,  or  the  district  attor 
ney  is  an  out-and-out  crook." 

Wiley,  more  cautious,  wasn't  so  sure.  If  Lydia 
herself  took  the  stand 

"Of  course  I  shall  testify  in  my  own  behalf,"  said 
Lydia. 

"Yes,"  said  Albee.  "Exhibit  A  — a  beautiful 
woman.  Verdict  —  not  guilty." 

So  the  discussion  always  came  back  to  the  sympathy 
Of  the  jury  —  the  necessity  of  selecting  the  right  twelve 
men.  Nothing  else  was  talked  of  during  luncheon  at 
Eleanor's  that  first  day.  Was  Number  6  hostile  ?  Did 
all  farmers  own  automobiles  nowadays  ?  Number  1 
[was  susceptible,  Miss  Bennett  felt  sure.  He  hadn't 
taken  his  eyes  off  Lydia.  Number  7,  on  the  contrary, 
was  hypnotized,  according  to  Lydia,  by  "that  man." 

By  three  o'clock  the  jury  was  declared  satisfactory 


156  MANSLAUGHTER 

to  the  prosecution.  It  was  Wiley's  turn.  His  man 
ner  was  very  different  from  O'Bannon's —  more  con 
ciliating.  He  seemed  to  woo  the  jury  with  what 
Lydia  described  in  her  own  mind  as  a  perfumed  voice. 

Number  2,  in  answer  to  Wiley's  questions,  ad 
mitted  a  prejudice  against  automobiles,  since  it  was 
now  impossible  to  drive  his  cows  home  along  the  high 
road.  He  was  excused. 

Number  7,  who  had  once  owned  a  flourishing  poul 
try  farm,  had  been  obliged  to  give  it  up. 

"On  account  of  motors  ?" 

"Yes,  and  because  it  didn't  pay." 

Did  he  feel  his  prejudice  was  such  as  to  prevent  his 
rendering  an  impartial  verdict  in  this  case  ? 

Number  7  looked  blank  and  sulky,  like  a  little  boy, 
stumped  in  class,  and  at  last  said  it  wouldn't. 

"Excused,"  said  Wiley. 

"But  I  said  it  wouldn't,"  Number  7  protested. 

"Excused,"  said  Wiley,  fluttering  his  hand. 

Lydia  had  tapped  twice  on  the  table  —  the  agreed 
signal. 

By  four  o'clock  the  jury  was  satisfactory  to  both! 
sides ;  and  then,  just  as  Lydia's  nerves  were  tightened 
for  the  beginning  of  the  great  game,  the  court  ad* 
journed  until  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning.  The 
judge,  looking  up  from  his  writing,  admonished  the 
jury  not  to  discuss  the  case  with  anyone,  not  even, 
among  themselves.  The  jurors  produced  unexpected1 
hats  and  coats  like  a  conjuring  trick.  The  court 


MANSLAUGHTER  157 

attendant  began  shouting  "Keep  your  seats  until  the 
jury  has  passed  out,"  and  the  whole  picture  of  the 
court  dissolved. 

iWiley  was  whispering  to  Lydia,  "A  very  nice 
jury  —  a  very  intelligent,  reasonable  group  of  men." 
He  rubbed  his  hands. 

Lydia's  eyes  followed  O'Bannon's  back  as  he  left 
the  court  with  Foster  trotting  by  his  side. 

"I  wonder  if  the  district  attorney  is  equally  pleased 
[with  them,"  she  said. 

Bobby  Dorset  drove  back  with  them  and  stayed  to 
Dinner.  Miss  Bennett,  who  had  a  headache  from  the- 
hot  air  and  the  effort  of  concentrating  her  mind, 
would  have  been  glad  to  forget  the  trial,  but  Lydia 
and  Bobby  talked  of  nothing  else.  She  kept  a  pad  and 
pencil  at  hand  to  note  down  points  that  occurred  to 
her.  Bobby,  with  a  mind  at  once  acute  and  trivial, 
had  collected  odd  bits  of  information  —  that  the  judge 
iwas  hostile,  that  the  door  man  said  the  verdict  would 
be  not  guilty,  and  he  had  never  been  wrong  in  twenty- 
seven  years. 

Proceedings  began  the  next  morning  by  O'Bannon's 
opening  for  the  prosecution.  Lydia  saw  a  new 
weapon  directed  against  her  that  her  advisers  did  not 
eeem  to  appreciate — O'Bannon's  terrible  sincerity. 
His  voice  had  not  an  artificial  note  in  it.  Meaning 
;what  he  said,  he  was  able  to  convince  the  jury. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  began,  "the  indictment 
in  this  case  is  manslaughter  in  the  first  degree.  That 


158  MANSLAUGHTER 

is  homicide  without  intent  to  effect  death  by  a  person 
(committing  or  attempting  to  commit  a  misdemeanor. 
The  People  will  show  that  on  the  eleventh  day  of 
March  of  this  year  the  defendant,  while  operating  an 
lautomobile  on  the  highways  of  this  county  in  a  reck 
less  and  lawless  manner,  killed  John  Drummond,  a 
traffic  policeman,  who  was  attempting  to  arrest  her. 
Drummond,  whose  ante-mortem  statement  will  be  put 
in  evidence " 

Suddenly  Lydia's  attention  lapsed.  This  man  who 
was  trying  to  send  her  to  prison  had  held  her  in  his 
arms.  She  saw  again  the  moon  and  the  mist,  and  felb 
Ms  firm  hand  on  her  shoulder.  Memory  seemed  more 
real  than  this  incredible  reality.  Then,  just  as  steel 
idoors  shut  on  the  red  fire  of  a  furnace,  so  her  mind 
shut  out  this  aspect  of  the  situation,  and  she  found  she 
was  listening  —  after  how  long  a  pause  she  did  not 
[know  —  to  O'Bannon's  words. 

" at  the  entrance  to  the  village  the  road 

Divides,  the  right  fork  turning  back  at  an  angle  some 
thing  less  than  a  right  angle.  Round  this  corner  the 
defendant  attempted  to  go  by  a  device  known  as  skid 
ding  a  car ;  that  is  to  say,  still  going  at  a  high  rate  of 
speed,  she  turned  her  wheels  sharply  to  the  right  and 
put  on  her  brakes  hard  enough  to  lock  the  back 
wheels." 

"Yes,  my  friend,"  thought  Lydia,  "that's  the  way 
it's  done.  I  wonder  how  many  times  you've  skidded 
your  own  car  to  know  so  much  about  it." 


MAJSTSLAUGHTEK  159- 

"This  procedure/'  O'Bannon's  voice  continued, 
"which  is  always  a  somewhat  reckless  performance, 
was  in  this  case  criminal.  With  the  officer  known  to 
be  overlapping  her  car  on  the  left,  she  might  as  well 
have  picked  up  her  car  and  struck  him  with  it.  Her 
car  did  so  strike  him,  smashing  his  motorcycle  to 
bits  and  causing  the  hideous  injuries  of  which  he  died 
within  a  few  hours." 

Lydia  closed  her  eyes.  She  saw  that  mass  of  blood 
stained  khaki  and  steel  lying  in  the  road  and  heard 
her  own  footsteps  beating  on  the  macadam. 

"The  People  will  prove  that  the  defendant  was  com 
mitting  a  misdemeanor  at  the  time.  By  Section  1950 
of  the  Penal  Law  it  is  a  misdemeanor  to  render  the 
highways  dangerous  or  to  render  a  considerable  num 
ber  of  persons  insecure  in  life.  The  defendant  in 
approaching  the  village  of  Wide  Plains  along  a  high 
way  on  which  there  were  buildings  and  people  at  a 
rate  of  forty  miles  an  hour  was  so  endangering  life. 
Gentlemen,  there  never  was  a  simpler  case  as  to  law; 
and  fact  than  this  one." 

Lydia  glanced  at  Wiley  under  her  lashes.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  O'Bannon's  manner  was  almost 
perfect.  She  believed  he  had  already  captured  the 
jury,  but  she  could  read  nothing  of  Wiley's  opinion 
in  his  expression.  He  rose  more  leisurely,  more  con 
versational  in  manner.  The  defense  would  show,  he 
said  —  and  his  tone  seemed  to  add  "without  the  least 
difficulty"  —  that  the  motorcycle  of  the  unfortunate 


160  MANSLAUGHTEK 


policeman  had  skidded  and  struck  the  auto 
mobile  of  the  defendant,  causing,  to  the  deep  chagrin 
of  the  defendant,  the  death  of  that  gallant  young  hero. 
They  would  show  that  the  defendant  was  not  com 
mitting  a  misdemeanor  at  the  time,  for  to  attain  a 
speed  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  on  a  lonely  road 
was  not  even  violating  the  speed  law,  as  everyone  who 
owned  a  car  knew  very  well.  As  for  the  indictment 
of  manslaughter  in  the  first  degree,  really  —  Wiley's 
manner  seemed  to  say  that  he  knew  a  joke  was  a  joke, 
and  that  he  had  as  much  sense  of  humor  as  most  men, 
ibut  when  it  came  to  manslaughter  in  the  first  degree  — 
"a  crime,  gentlemen,  for  which  a  prison  sentence  of 
twenty  years  may  be  imposed  —  twenty  years,  gentle 
men."  He  had  never  in  a  long  experience  at  the  bar 
heard  of  a  bill  being  found  at  once  so  spectacular  and 
so  completely  at  variance  with  the  law.  The  defense 
would  show  them  that  if  they  followed  the  recommen 
dation  of  his  learned  young  friend,  the  district  attor 
ney,  to  consider  the  facts  and  the  law  - 

His  manner  to  O'Bannon  was  more  paternal  than 
patronizing.  He  seemed  to  sketch  him  as  an  eager, 
emotional  boy  intoxicated  by  headlines  in  the  New, 
York  papers.  Wiley  radiated  wisdom,  pity  for  hig 
client,  grief  for  the  loss  of  Drummond  and  an  encour 
aging  hope  that  a  young  man  like  O'Bannon  would 
learn  enough  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  to  prevent 
his  making  a  humiliating  sort  of  mistake  like  this 
again.  He  did  not  say  a  word  of  this,  but  Lydia 


MANSLAUGHTER  161 

could  see  the  atmosphere  of  his  speech  seeping  into  the 
jurors'  minds. 

Yes,  she  thought,  it  was  an  able  opening  —  not  the 
sort  of  ability  that  she  would  have  connected  with 
legal  talent  in  the  days  when  she  knew  less  of  the  law ; 
but  it  seemed  to  be  the  kind  of  magic  that  worked. 
She  was  pleased  with  her  counsel,  directed  a  flatter 
ing  look  at  him  and  began  to  assume  the  air  he  wanted 
[her  to  assume  —  the  dovelike. 

The  prosecution  began  at  once  to  call  their  wit 
nesses  —  first  the  doctors  and  nurses  from  the  hospital, 
establishing  the  cause  of  death.  Then  the  exact  time 
was  established  by  the  clock  on  the  motorcycle  —  3 :12, 
iconfirmed  by  the  testimony  of  many  witnesses.  Then 
the  ante-mortem  statement  was  put  in  evidence.  A 
long  technical  argument  took  place  between  the 
lawyers  over  this.  It  occupied  all  the  rest  of  the 
morning  session.  The  statement  was  finally  admitted, 
but  the  discussion  had  served  to  impress  on  the  jury 
,the  fact  that  the  testimony  of  a  witness  whose  credi 
bility  cannot  be  judged  of  by  personal  inspection,  and 
who  is  saved  by  death  from  the  cross-examination  of 
the  lawyer  of  the  other  side,  is  evidence  which  the  law 
admits  only  under  protest. 

Wiley  scored  his  first  tangible  success  in  his  cross^ 
jexamination  of  the  two  men  who  had  come  to  Lyd  La's 
assistance.  On  direct  examination  they  had  testified 
to  the  high  rate  of  speed  at  which  Lydia  had  been 
going.  Wiley,  when  they  were  turned  over  to  him, 


162  MANSLAUGHTER 

contrived  to  put  them  in  a  position  where  they  were 
forced  either  to  confess  that  they  had  no  knowledge  of 
high  rates  of  speed  or  else  that  they  themselves  fre 
quently  broke  the  law.  Wiley  was  polite,  almost 
kind;  but  he  made  them  look  foolish,  and  the  jury 
enjoyed  the  spectacle. 

This  success  was  overshadowed  by  a  small  reverse 
that  followed  it.  The  prosecution  had  a  long  line  of 
witnesses  who  had  passed  or  been  passed  by  Lydia 
just  before  the  accident.  One  of  these  was  a  young 
man  who  was  a  washer  in  a  garage  about  a  mile  away 
from  the  fatal  corner.  He  testified  in  direct  exami 
nation  that  Lydia  was  going  forty-five  miles  an  hour 
when  she  passed  the  garage. 

Wiley  stood  up,  severe  and  cold,  his  manner  seem 
ing  to  say,  "of  all  things  in  this  world,  I  hate  a  liar 
most!" 

"And  where  were  you  at  the  time  ?" 

"Standing  outside  the  garage." 

"What  were  you  doing  there  2" 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing?" 

"Smoking  a  pipe." 

"At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  —  during  wort- 
ing  hours  ?"  Wiley  made  it  sound  like  a  crime. 
"And  during  this  little  siesta,  or  holiday,  you  saw  the 
defendant's  car  going  at  forty-five  miles  an  hour  —  is 
that  the  idea  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


MANSLAUGHTER  163 

"And  will  you  tell  the  jury  how  it  was  you  were 
able  to  judge  so  exactly  of  the  speed  of  a  car  ap 
proaching  you  head-on  ?" 

The  obvious  answer  was  that  he  guessed  at  it,  but 
the  young  man  did  not  make  it. 

"I  do  it  by  means  of  telegraph  poles  an_d  counting 
seconds." 

It  then  appeared  that  the  young  man  was  accus 
tomed  to  timing  automobile  and  motorcycle  races. 

Lydia  saw  Foster  faintly  smile  as  he  glanced  at  his 
chief.  Evidently  the  defense  had  fallen  into  a  neatly 
laid  little  trap.  She  glanced  at  Wiley  and  saw  that 
he  was  pretending  to  be  delighted. 

"Exactly,  exactly!"  he  was  saying,  pointing  an 
accusing  finger  at  the  witness;  "You  and  Drummond 
psed  to  go  to  motorcycle  races  together." 

He  did  it  very  well,  but  it  did  not  succeed.  The 
Jury  were  left  with  the  impression  that  the  People's 
witness  on  speed  was  one  to  be  believed. 


CHAPTEK  Xj 

STRANGELY  enough,  the  days  of  her  trial  were 
among  the  happiest  and  the  most  interesting 
that  Lydia  had  ever  known.  They  had  a  con 
tinuity  of  interest  that  kept  her  calm  and  equahle. 
[Usually  when  she  woke  in  the  softest  of  beds  and 
lifted  her  cheek  from  the  smoothest  of  pillows  she 
asked  herself  what  she  should  do  that  day.  Choice 
(was  open  to  her — innumerable  choices  —  all  unsatis 
factory,  because  her  own  satisfaction  was  the  only  ele 
ment  to  be  considered. 

But  during  her  trial  she  did  not  ask  this  question. 
Bhe  had  an  occupation  and  an  object  for  living,  not 
BO  much  to  save  herself  as  to  humiliate  O'Bannon. 
The  steady,  strong  interest  gave  shape  and  pattern  to 
Jier  days,  like  the  thread  of  a  string  of  beads. 

As  soon  as  each  session  was  over  she  and  Wiley,  on 
the  lawn  of  the  courthouse  or  at  her  house  if  she  could 
Detain  him,  or  she  and  Albee  or  Bobby  or  Miss  Ben 
nett,  as  Ihe  case  might  be,  would  go  over  each  point 
made  by  the  prosecution's  witnesses  or  brought  out  by 
iWiley's  cross-examination  of  them.  The  district  at 
torney  seemed  to  be  reserving  no  surprises.  He  had 

a  strong,  straight  case  with  Drummond's  ante-mortem 

164 


MANSLAUGHTER  165 

statement,  and  a  great  many  witnesses  as  to  Lydia' s 
speed.  The  bracelet  had  not  been  admitted  in  evi 
dence  so  far,  nor  had  Drammond's  statement  referred 
to  it,  and  .Wiley  grew  more  confident  that  it 
would  not  be  allowed.  The  defense  had  felt  some 
anxiety  over  the  exactitude  with  which  the  hour  of 
the  accident  had  been  established,  but  as  Lydia  did 
not  honestly  know  the  hour  at  which  she  had  left 
Eleanor's  nor  had  Eleanor  or  any  of  her  servants  been 
subpoenaed,  there  did  not  seem  any  danger  from  this 
point  after  all. 

Lydia,  who  was  to  be  the  first  witness  for  the  de 
fense,  had  thought  over  every  point,  every  implica 
tion  of  her  own  testimony,  until  she  felt  sure  tha-ti 
"that  man"  would  not  be  able  to  catch  her  wrong  in 
&  single  item.  She  did  not  dread  the  moment  —  she 
longed  for  it.  Wiley  had  advised  her  of  the  danger 
|of  remembering  too  much  —  a  candid  "I'm  afraid  I 
clon't  remember  that"  would  often  convince  a  jury* 
better  than  a  too  exact  memory. 

"And,"  Wiley  added  soothingly,  "don't  be  fright 
ened  if  the  district  attorney  tries  to  browbeat  you. 
The  court  will  protect  you,  and  if  I  seem  to  let  it  go 
On  it  will  be  because  I  see  it's  prejudicing  the  jury  in 
^our  f  avor." 

Lydia's  nostrils  fluttered  with  a  long  indrawn 
Ibreath. 

"I  don't  think  he  will  frighten  me,"  she  said. 

But  most  of  all,  Wiley  advised  her  as  to  her  bear- 


166  MANSLAUGHTER 

ing.  She  must  be  gentle,  feminine,  appealing,  as  if 
she  would  not  voluntarily  injure  a  fly.  No  matter 
what  happened,  she  mustn't  set  her  jaw  and  tap  her 
foot  and  flash  back  contemptuous  answers. 

Lydia  moved  her  head,  looking  exactly  as  Wiley; 
<lid  not  want  her  to  look. 

"I  cannot  be  appealing,"  she  said. 

"Then  the  district  attorney  will  win  his  case,"  said 
Wiley. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Lydia  said  in  her 
good-little-girl  manner : 

"I'll  do  my  best." 

Everybody  knew  that  her  best  would  be  good. 

The  People  were  to  close  their  case  that  morning. 
[A  witness  as  to  Lydia's  speed  just  before  the  accident 
was  on  the  stand.  He  testified  that,  following  her  as 
fast  as  his  car  would  go  —  he  had  no  speedometer  — > 
he  had  not  been  able  to  keep  her  in  sight.  His  name 
was  Yakob  Ussolof,  and  he  had  great  difficulty  witK 
the  English  language.  His  statements  were,  however, 
clear  and  damaging. 

The  jury  was  almost  purely  Anglo-Saxon,  and  as 
Wiley  rose  to  cross-examine  the  very  effort  he  made 
to  get  the  name  right  —  "Mr.  —  er  —  Mr.  —  U — » 
Ussolof"  —  was  an  appeal  to  their  Americanism. 

"Mr.  Ussolof,  you  have  driven  an  automobile  for 
some  years  ?" 

"Yare,  yare,"  said  Mr.  Ussolof  eagerly,  "for  ten; 
years  now." 


MANSLAUGHTER  167 

"How  long  had  you  owned  the  car  you  were  driv 
ing  on  March  eleventh  ?" 

"Since  fall  now." 

"Ah,  a  new  car.    And  what  was  its  make  ?" 

"Flivver." 

The  magic  word  worked  its  accustomed  miracle. 
Everyone  smiled,  and  Wiley,  seeing  "before  him  a  jury 
of  flivver  owners,  went  on: 

"And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Mr.  Ussolof,  that  in 
(the  speediest  car  built  in  America  you  could  not  keep 
a  foreign-built  car  going  at  thirty  miles  an  hour  in 
sight  ?  Oh,  Mr.  Ussolof,  you  don't  do  us  justice.  We 
build  better  cars  than  that!" 

The  jury  smiled,  the  spectators  laughed,  the  gavel 
fell  for  order,  and  Mr.  Wiley  sat  down.  He  had  told 
Lydia  that  a  jury,  like  an  audience,  loves  those  who 
make  them  laugh,  and  he  sat  down  with  an  air  of  suc 
cess.  But  Lydia,  watching  them  more  closely,  was 
not  so  sure.  As  O'Bannon  rose  she  noted  the  extreme 
gravity  of  his  manner,  his  look  at  the  jury,  which 
seemed  to  say,  "A  man's  life  —  a  woman's  liberty  at 
stake,  and  you  allow  a  mountebank  to  make  you 
laugh !"  It  was  only  a  look,  but  Lydia  saw  that  they 
regained  their  seriousness  like  a  lot  of  schoolboys 
when  the  head  master  enters. 

"Call  Alma  Wooley,"  said  O'Bannon. 

Alma  Wooley,  the  last  witness  for  the  People,  wag 
the  girl  to  whom  Drummond  had  been  engaged.  A 
little  figure  in  the  deepest  mourning  mounted  the 


168  MANSLAUGHTER 

stand,  so  pale  that  she  looked  as  if  a  strong  raj  would 
shine  clear  through  her,  and  though  her  eyes  were  dry, 
her  voice  had  the  liquid  sound  that  comes  with  much 
crying.  Many  of  the  jury  had  known  her  when  she 
worked  in  her  father's  shop.  She  testified  that  her 
name  was  Alma  Wooley,  her  age  nineteen,  that  she 
lived  with  her  father. 

"Miss  Wooley/7  said  O'Bannon,  "you  were  sent  for 
to  go  to  the  hospital  on  the  eleventh  of  this  March, 
;were  you  not  2" 

An  almost  inaudihle  "Yes,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

"You  saw  Drummond  before  he  died?" 

She  bent  her  head. 

"How  long  were  you  with  him  ?" 

She  just  breathed  the  answer,  "About  an  hour." 

Juror  Number  6  spoke  up  and  said,  that  he  could 
not  hear.  The  judge  in  a  loud  roar  —  offered  as  an 
example  —  said,  "You  must  speak  louder.  You  must 
epeak  so  that  the  last  juror  can  hear  you.  No,  don't 
look  at  me.  Look  at  the  jury." 

Thus  admonished,  Miss  Wooley  raised  her  faint, 
liquid  voice  and  testified  that  she  had  been  present 
while  Drummond  was  making  his  statement. 

"Tell  the  jury,  what  took  place." 

"I  said » 

Her  voice  sank  out  of  hearing.    Wiley  sprang  up. 

"Your  Honor,  I  must  protest.  I  cannot  hear  the 
witness.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  protect  my  client's 
interests  if  I  cannot  hear." 


MANSLAUGHTER  169 

The  stenographer  was  "directed  to  read  Ms  notes 
aloud,  and  he  read  rapidly  and  without  the  least  ex 
pression  : 

"Question:  'Tell  the  jury  what  took  place.' 
Answer:  'I  said,  "Oh,  Jack,  darling,  what  did  they 
do  to  you  ?"  And  he  said,  "It  was  her,  dear.  She  got 
me  after  all.7' '  " 

Wiley  was  on  his  feet  again,  protesting  in  a  voice 
that  drowned  all  other  sounds.  A  bitter  argument 
between  the  lawyers  took  place.  They  argued  with 
each  other,  they  went  and  breathed  their  arguments 
into  the  ear  of  the  judge.  In  the  end  Miss  Wooley's 
testimony  was  not  allowed  to  contain  anything  in 
reference  to  any  previous  meeting  between  Drum- 
mond  and  Lydia,  but  was  limited  to  a  bare  confirma 
tion  of  the  details  of  Drummond's  own  statement. 
Technically  the  defense  had  won  its  point,  but  the 
emotional  impression  the  girl  had  left  was  not  easily 
effaced,  nor  the  suspicion  that  the  defense  had  some 
thing  to  conceal.  Wiley  did  not  cross-examine,  know 
ing  that  the  sooner  the  pathetic  little  figure  left  the 
stand  the  better.  But  he  managed  to  convey  that  it 
was  his  sympathy  with  the  sufferer  that  made  him 
waive  cross-examination. 

The  People's  case  rested. 

Lydia  was  called.  As  she  rose  and  walked  behind 
the  jury  box  toward  the  waiting  Bible  she  realized 
exactly  why  it  was  that  O'Bannon  had  put  Alma  on 
the  stand  the  last  of  all  his  witnesses.  It  was  to 


170  MANSLAUGHTEB 

counteract  with  tragedy  any  appeal  that  youth  and 
•wealth  and  beauty  might  make  to  the  emotions  of  the 
jury.  Such  a  trick,  it  seemed  to  her,  deserved  a 
counter  trick,  and  reconciled  her  to  falsehood,  even  as 
she  was  swearing  that  her  testimony  would  be  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  so 
help  her  God. 

Surely  it  was  persecution  for  the  law  to  stoop  to 
such  methods.  She  felt  as  hard  as  steel.  Women  do 
not  get  fair  play,  she  thought.  Here  she  was,  wanting 
to  fight  like  a  tigress,  and  her  only  chance  of  winning 
was  to  appear  as  gentle  and  innocuous  as  the  dove. 
She  testified  that  her  name  was  Lydia  Janetta 
Thorne,  her  age  twenty-four,  her  residence  New  York. 

"Miss  Thorne,"  said  Wiley,  very  businesslike  in 
manner,  "for  how  many  years  have  you  driven  a 
car?" 

"For  eight  years." 

"As  often  as  three  or  four  times  a  week  ?" 

"Much  oftener  —  constantly  —  every  day." 

"Have  you  ever  been  arrested  for  speeding  ?" 

"Only  once  —  about  seven  years  ago  in  New  Jer- 
Bey." 

"Were  you  fined  or  imprisoned  ?" 

"No,  the  case  was  dismissed." 

"Have  you  ever,  before  March  eleventh,  had  an 
accident  in  which  you  injured  yourself  or  anyone 
else?" 

"No." 


MANSLAUGHTEK  1Y1 

"Now  tell  the  jury  as  nearly  as  you  can  remember 
just  what  took  place  from  the  time  you  left  your 
house  on  the  morning  of  March  eleventh  until  the 
accident  that  afternoon." 

Lydia  turned  to  the  jury  —  not  dovelike,  but  with  a 
modified  beam  of  candid  friendliness  that  was  very 
winning.  She  described  her  day.  She  had  left  her 
house  about  half  past  eleven  and  had  run  down  to 
Miss  Bellington's,  a  distance  of  thirty  miles,  in  an 
hour  and  a  half.  She  had  expected  to  spend  the  after 
noon  there,  but  finding  that  her  friend  had  an  engage 
ment  she  had  left  earlier  than  she  expected.  !N"o,  she 
had  no  motive  whatsoever  for  getting  to  town  quickly. 
On  the  contrary,  she  had  extra  time  on  her  hands. 
No,  she  had  not  noticed  the  hour  at  which  she  left 
Miss  Bellington's,  but  it  was  soon  after  luncheon; 
about  twenty-five  minutes  before  three,  she  should 
imagine. 

Was  she  conscious  of  driving  fast  at  any  time  ? 

Yes,  just  after  leaving  Miss  Bellington's.  There 
was  a  good  piece  of  road  and  no  traffic.  She  had  run 
very  fast  —  probably  thirty-five  miles  an  hour. 

Did  she  call  that  fast  ? 

Yes,  she  did.  She  achieved  a  very-good-little-girl 
manner  as  she  said  this. 

For  how  long  had  she  maintained  this  high  rate  of 
speed  ? 

She  was  afraid  she  couldn't  remember  exactly,  but 
for  two  or  three  miles.  On  approaching  the  village  of 


172  MANSLAUGHTER 

iWide  Plains  she  had  slowed  down  to  her  regular  rate 
of  twenty-five  miles  an  hour  —  slower  as  she  actually 
entered  the  village.  She  could  not  say  how  long 
Drummond  had  been  following  her  —  she  had  not 
noticed  him.  She  had  seen  him  as  she  was  entering 
the  village  —  saw  him  reflected  in  her  mirror.  It  was 
difficult  to  judge  distances  exactly  from  such  a  reflec 
tion.  She  had  not  been  noticing  him  just  at  the 
moment  of  the  accident.  Yes,  her  decision  to  take  the 
right-hand  turn  had  been  a  sudden  one.  She  had  felt 
the  impact.  She  believed  that  the  policeman  ran  into 
her.  She  was  on  her  own  side  of  the  road  and  turning 
to  the  right. 

Why  did  she  take  the  right-hand  road,  which  was 
longer  than  the  left  ? 

Because  it  was  more  agreeable,  and  as  she  was  in! 
no  hurry  to  get  home  she  did  not  mincl  the  extra  dis 
tance. 

After  the  accident  she  had  remained  and  rendered 
every  assistance  in  her  power,  going  to  the  hospital 
and  remaining  there  until  the  preliminary  report  of 
Drummond's  condition.  She  had  left  her  address 
and  telephone  number,  so  that  the  hospital  could  tele 
phone  her  when  the  X-ray  examination  was  finished. 

Her  friends  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  when  her  direct 
testimony  was  over.  It  was  true,  she  was  not  an  ap 
pealing  figure  like  Alma  Wooley;  but  she  was  clear, 
audible,  direct,  and  her  straight  glance  under  her  dark 
level  brows  was  convincingly  honest. 


MAN"SLAUGHTEK  173 

As  slie  finished  her  direct  testimony  she  looked 
down  at  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap.  The  important 
moment  had  come.  She  heard  Wiley's  smooth  voice 
saying  "Your  witness"  as  if  he  were  making  the 
People  a  magnificent  present.  As  she  became  aware 
•that  O'Bannon  was  standing  up,  looking  at  her,  she 
raised  her  eyes  as  far  as  the  top  button  of  his  waist 
coat,  and  then  slowly  lifting  both  head  and  eyes  to- 
jgether  she  stared  him  straight  in  the  face. 

He  held  her  eyes  for  several  seconds,  trying,  she 
thought,  in  the  silence  to  take  possession  of  her  mind 
as  he  had  taken  possession  of  the  jury's. 

"Not  so  easy,  my  friend,"  she  said  to  herself,  and 
just  as  she  said  it  she  heard  his  voice  saying  coolly, 
"Look  at  the  jury,  please,  not  at  me." 

Her  eyes,  as  she  turned  them  in  the  desirecj  direc 
tion,  had  a  flash  in  them. 

"Miss  Thome,  at  what  hour  did  you  leave  Miss 
Wellington's  ?" 

"I  have  no  way  of  fixing  it  precisely  —  about 
2:35." 

"You  are  quite  sure  it  was  not  later  ?" 

"I  cannot  be  sure  within  four  or  five  minutes."1 

".What  is  the  distance  from  Miss  Bellington's  to  the! 
scene  of  the  accident  3" 

"About  fifteen  miles,  I  should  think." 

"Your  calculation  is  that  as  the  accident  took  place 
at  3 :12  and  you  left  at  twenty-five  minutes  to  three 
you  drove  fifteen  miles  in  thirty-seven  minutes  —  that 


174:  MANSLAUGHTER 

is  to  say,  at  the  rate  of  twenty-four  miles  an  hour.  Is 
that  right?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  never  ran  faster  than  thirty-five  miles 
an  hour  ?" 

"Never." 

"Don't  look  at  me.    Look  at  the  jury,  please." 

She  found  it  hard  to  be  dovelike  under  this  repeated 
admonition.  "As  if,"  she  thought,  "I  couldn't  keep 
my  eyes  off  him,  whereas,  of  course,  it's  human 
nature  to  look  at  the  person  who's  speaking  to  you." 

"You  say,"  he  went  on,  "that  you  had  expected  to 
stay  longer  at  Miss  Bellington's  than  you  actually 
did." 

"Yes." 

"And  what  made  you  change  your  plans  ?" 

"I  found  she  had  an  engagement." 

"Did  she  mention  it  on  your  arrival  ?" 

"JSTo." 

"When  did  she  mention  it  ?" 

"After  luncheon." 

"Was  she  called  to  the  telephone  during  your 
visit?" 

"No." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that  ?" 

There  was  a  pause.  The  gates  of  Lydia's  memory 
had  suddenly  opened.  The  telephone  call,  which  had 
made  no  impression  at  the  time  because  she  had  not 
taken  in  that  it  was  from  O'Bannon,  suddenly  came 


MANSLAUGHTEK  175 

T)ack  to  her.  She  tried  hastily  to  see  its  bearing  on  her 
case,  hut  he  gave  her  no  time. 

"Answer  my  question,  please.  Will  you  swear 
there  was  no  telephone  call  to  your  knowledge  ?" 

"No,  I  cannot." 

"In  fact  there  was  a  telephone  call  ?" 

"Yes." 

"It  was  during  that  telephone  call  that  the  engage 
ment  was  made  ?" 

"I  cannot  say  —  I  do  not  know." 

"How  long  did  you  stay  after  that  telephone  ?" 

"I  left  at  once." 

"You  put  on  your  hat  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  your  veil  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  a  coat?" 

"Yes." 

It  was  impossible  to  be  dovelike  under  this  interro 
gation.  The  jury  were  allowing  themselves  to 
smile. 

"Had  your  car  been  left  standing  at  the  door  ?" 

"No."  She  felt  that  her  jaw  was  beginning  to  set, 
and  she  kept  her  foot  quiet  only  with  an  effort. 

"You  had  to  wait  while  it  was  sent  for  ?" 

"Yes." 

"In  other  words,  Miss  Thome,  you  must  have 
yaited  not  less  than  five  minutes  after  the  telephone 
call  came  ?" 


176  MANSLAUGHTER 

"Probably  not." 

"Answer  yes  or  no,  please." 

"No."    She  flung  it  at  him. 

"Then  if  that  telephone  came  at  thirteen  minutes 
before  three  you  must  have  left  not  earlier  than  eight 
minutes  to  three,  and  the  accident  took  place  at  3  :12, 
you  ran  the  distance  —  it  is  actually  thirteen  miles 
and  a  half  —  in  twenty  minutes ;  that  is,  at  the  rate 
of  forty  miles  an  hour." 

Wiley  protested  that  there  was  nothing  in  evidence 
to  show  that  the  telephone  call  had  been  made  at  thir 
teen  minutes  before  three,  and  O'Bannon  replied  that 
with  the  consent  of  the  court  he  would  put  the  records 
of  the  telephone  company  in  evidence  to  prove  the 
exact  hour.  This  point  settled,  a  pause  followed. 
Lydia  half  rose,  supposing  the  ordeal  over,  but 
O'Bannon  stopped  her. 

"One  moment,"  he  said.  "You  say  you  have  not 
been  arrested  for  exceeding  the  speed  law  for  several 
years.  Have  you  ever  been  stopped  by  a  police 
man?" 

Wiley  was  up  in  protest  at  once. 

"I  object,  Your  Honor,  on  the  ground  of  irrele 
vancy." 

The  judge  said  to  O'Bannon,  "What  is  the  purpose 
of  the  question?" 

"Credibility,  Your  Honor.  I  wish  to  show  that  the 
defendant  is  not  a  competent  witness  as  to  her  own 
speed." 


MANSLAUGHTER  177 

The  judge  locked  his  fingers  together,  with  his 
elbows  on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  and  took  a  ruminative 
half  spin. 

"The  fact  that  she  was  once  stopped  by  the  police 
|will  not  determine  that.  She  might  have  been  vio 
lating  some  other  ordinance." 

"I  will  show,  if  Your  Honor  permits  it,  that  it  was 
for  speeding  that  she  was  stopped." 

Eventually  the  question  was  admitted ;  and  Lydia, 
testifying  more  and  more  reluctantly,  more  and  more 
aware  that  the  impression  she  was  making  was  bad, 
was  forced  to  testify  that  in  the  autumn  Drummond 
himself  had  stopped  her.  Asked  what  he  had  said  to 
her,  she  answered  scornfully  that  she  didn't  remem 
ber. 

"Did  he  say :  rWhat  do  you  think  this  is  —  a  race 
track?'" 

"I  don't  remember." 

"Did  he  warn  you  that  if  you  continued  to  drive 
BO  fast  he  would  arrest  you  ?" 

"No." 

If  hate  could  kill,  the  district  attorney;  would  have 
been  struck  down  by  her  glance. 

"You  don't  remember  any  of  the  conversation  that 
took  place  between  you  ?" 

"No." 

"And  you  cannot  explain  why  a  traffic  officer 
stopped  you  and  let  you  go  without  even  a  warning  2" 

"No." 


178  MANSLAUGHTER 

"Would  it  refresh  your  memory,  Miss  Thome,  to 
look  at  this  bracelet  which  I  hold  in  my  hand '?" 

"I  protest,  Your  Honor!"  shouted  Wiley,  but  a 
second  too  late.  Lydia  had  seen  the  bracelet  and 
shrunk  from  it  —  with  a  quick  gesture  of  repugnance. 

The  line  of  inquiry  was  not  permitted,  the  bracelet 
•was  not  put  in  evidence,  the  question  was  ordered 
stricken  from  the  records ;  but  the  total  effect  of  her 
testimony  was  to  leave  in  the  minds  of  the  jurors  the 
impression  that  she  was  perfectly  capable  of  the  con 
duct  which  the  prosecution  attributed  to  her.  Wiley 
detained  her  a  few  moments  for  redirect  examination 
in  the  hope  of  regaining  the  dove,  but  in  vain. 

Miss  Bennett  was  put  on  the  stand  to  testify  to 
I/ydia's  habitual  prudence  as  a  driver;  Governor 
lAlbee  testified  to  her  excellent  record;  half  a  dozen 
other  friends  were  persuasive,  but  could  not  undo  the 
harm,  she  had  done  her  own  case. 

The  district  attorney  put  the  telephone-company 
records  in  evidence,  showing  that  only  one  call  had 
been  made  to  the  Bellington  house  between  two  and 
three  o'clock  March  eleventh,  and  that  it  had  been 
made  at  thirteen  minutes  before  three. 


CHAPTER  XI 

LYDIA,  with  the  wisdom  that  comes  specially 
to  the  courageous,  knew  that  her  trial  had 
gone  against  her  as  she  left  the  stand.  Miss 
Bennett  was  hopeful  as  they  drove  home.  Bohby 
actually  congratulated  her  on  the  clearness  and 
weight  of  what  she  had  said. 

Albee,  whose  own  investigation  had  closed  bril 
liantly  the  day  before,  came  that  evening  to  say  good- 
by  to  her.  He  was  called  back  to  his  native  state  on 
business  and  was  leaving  on  a  midnight  train. 

Since  the  accident  Lydia  had  been  seeing  Albee 
(every  day  —  had  used  him  and  consulted  him,  and  yet 
ihad  almost  forgotten  his  existence.  Now  as  she 
waited  for  his  appearance  it  came  to  her  with  a  shock 
of  surprise  that  she  had  once  come  very  near  to  en 
gaging  herself  to  him ;  that  in  parting  like  this  for  a 
few  weeks  he  might  make  the  assumption  that  she 
intended  to  be  his  wife.  She  thought  she  could  make 
her  trial  a  good  excuse  for  refusing  to  consider  such 
a  proposal.  That  would  get  rid  of  him  without  hurt 
ing  his  feelings.  She  thought  of  the  phrase,  "A 
woman  situated  as  I  am  cannot  enter  into  an  engage 
ment."  The  mere  idea  of  such  a  marriage  was  now 

179 


180  MANSLAUGHTER 

intensely  repugnant  to  her.  How  could  she  have  con 
templated  it? 

He  entered,  leonine  yet  neat  in  his  double-breasted 
•blue  serge  with  a  pearl  in  his  black  tie.  He  took  her 
hand  and  beamed  down  upon  her  as  if  many  things 
were  in  his  heart  that  he  would  not  trouble  her  with 
at  this  crisis  by  uttering. 

"Ah,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "I  wish  I  might  be  here 
to-morrow  to  see  your  triumph,  but  I'll  be  back  in  a 
month  or  so,  and  then  —  meantime  I  leave  you  in  good 
hands.  Wiley  is  capital.  His  summing  up  to-mor 
row  will  be  a  masterpiece.  And  remember,  if  by  any 
chance  —  juries  are  chancy,  you  know  —  they  do 
bring  in  an  adverse  verdict,  on  appeal  you're  safe  as  a 
church."  He  raised  a  cold,  rigid  little  hand  to  his 
lips. 

With  her  perfect  clear-sightedness  she  saw  he  was 
'deserting  her  and  was  glad  to  get  him  out  of  her  way. 
She  had  not  even  an  impulse  to  punish  him  for  going. 

The  next  morning  it  was  raining  torrents.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  globe  itself  were  spinning  in  rain 
rather  than  ether.  Rain  beat  on  the  streets  of  !N~ew 
[York  so  that  the  asphalt  ran  from  curb  to  curb  in 
black  brooks ;  rain  swept  across  the  open  spaces  of  the 
country,  and  as  they  ran  through  the  storm  water 
spouted  in  long  streams  from  the  wheels  of  the  car. 
In  the  court  room  rain  ran  down  the  windows  on  each 
side  of  the  American  flag  in  liquid  patterns.  The 
court  room  itself  had  a  different  air.  The  electric 


MANSLAUGHTER  131 

lights  were  on,  the  air  smelled  of  mud  and  rubber 
coats,  and  Judge  Homans,  who  suffered  from  rheuma 
tism,  was  stiff  and  grim, 

A  blow  awaited  Lydia  at  the  outset.  She  had  not 
•understood  that  the  defense  summed  up  first  —  that  the 
prosecution  had  the  last  word  with  the  jury.  What 
might  not  "that  man"  do  with  the  jury  by  means  of  his 
hypnotic  sincerity?  She  dreaded  Wiley's  summing 
up,  too,  fearing  it  would  be  oratorical  —  all  the  more 
because  he  kept  disclaiming  any  such  intention. 

"The  day  has  gone  by  for  eloquence,"  he  kept  say 
ing.  "One  doesn't  attempt  nowadays  to  be  a  Daniel 
Webster  or  a  Eufus  Choate.  But  of  course  it  is  nec 
essary  to  touch  the  hearts  of  the  jury." 

She  thought  that  O'Bannon's  appeal  was  to  their 
heads,  and  yet  Wiley  might  be  right.  People  were 
such  geese  they  might  prefer  Wiley's  method  to 
O'Bannon's. 

As  soon  as  court  opened  Wiley  began  his  summing 
up,  and  even  his  client  approved  of  his  simple,  leis 
urely  manner.  He  was  very  clear  and  effective  with 
the  merely  legal  points.  The  crime  of  manslaughter 
in  the  first  degree  —  a  crime  for  which  a  sentence  of 
twenty  years  might  be  imposed  —  had  not  been  proved. 
"Nor  was  there  credible  evidence  of  criminal  negli 
gence,  without  which  a  verdict  of  manslaughter  in  the 
second  degree  could  not  be  found.  As  he  reviewed 
the  facts  he  contrived  to  present  a  picture  of  Lydia's 
youthfulness,  her  motherlessness,  of  Thome's  early 


182  MANSLAUGHTER 

beginnings  as  a  workingman,  of  his  death  leaving 
Lydia  an  orphan.  He  made  her  beauty  and  wealth 
seem  a  disadvantage  —  a  terrible  temptation  to  an  am 
bitious  young  prosecutor  with  an  eye  to  newspaper 
headlines.  He  made  it  appear  as  if  juries  always 
convicted  young  ladies  of  social  position,  but  that  this 
particular  jury  by  a  triumph  of  fair-mindedness 
were  going  to  be  able  to  overcome  this  prejudice.  One 
juror  who  had  wept  over  Alma  Wooley  now  shed  an 
impartial  tear  for  Lydia. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  Wiley  ended,  "I  ask  you 
to  consider  this  case  on  the  facts  and  the  facts  alone  — 
not  to  be  led  away  by  the  emotional  appeals  of  an 
ambitious  and  learned  young  prosecutor  who  has  the 
ruthlessness  that  so  often  goes  with  young  ambition; 
not  to  convict  an  innocent  girl  whose  only  crime  seems 
to  be  that  she  is  the  custodian  of  wealth  that  her 
father,  an  American  workingman,  won  from  the  con 
ditions  of  American  industry.  If  you  consider  the 
evidence  alone  you  will  find  that  no  crime  has  been 
committed.  I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  for  a  verdict  of 
not  guilty." 

Lydia,  with  her  eyes  slanted  down  to  the  red  carpet 
at  a  spot  a  few  feet  from  O'Bannon's  chair,  saw  that 
Miss  Bennett  turned  joyfully  to  Eleanor,  that  Bobby 
was  trying  to  catch  her  eye  for  a  congratulatory  nod ; 
but  she  did  not  move  a  muscle  until  O'Bannon  rose 
and  crossed  over  to  the  jury.  Her  eyes  followed  him. 
Then  she  remembered  to  turn  and  give  her  own  coun- 


MAISTSLAUGHTEK  183 

sel  a  meclianical  smile  —  a  smile  such,  as  a  nurse  gives 
a  clever  child  who  has  just  built  a  fort  on  the  beach 
[which  the  next  wave  is  certain  to  sweep  away. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  O'Bannon  —  and  he 
bit  off  his  words  sharply;  indeed,  he  and  Wiley 
Beemed  to  have  changed  roles.  He  who  had  been  so 
cool  through  the  trial  now  showed  feeling,  a  sort  of 
quiet  passion  — "this  is  not  a  personal  contest  between 
the  distinguished  counsel  for  the  defense  and  myself. 
Neither  my  youth  nor  my  ambition  nor  my  alleged 
ruthlessness  are  in  question.  The  only  question  is, 
does  the  evidence  show  beyond  a  reasonable  doubt 
that  the  defendant  committed  the  crime  for  which  she 
has  been  indicted  2" 

Then  without  an  extra  phrase,  almost  without  an 
adjective,  he  went  on  quickly  piling  up  the  evidence 
against  her  until  it  reached  its  climax  in  the  proof  of 
the  shortness  of  time  that  had  elapsed  between  her 
leaving  Eleanor's  and  the  accident. 

"A  particularly  serious  responsibility  rests  upon 
you,  gentlemen,  in  this  case.  The  counsel  for  the 
defense  seems  to  assume  that  the  rich  fare  less  well 
in  our  courts  of  law  than  the  poor.  That  has  not  been 
my  experience.  I  should  be  glad  as  a  believer  in 
democracy  if  I  could  believe  that  justice  is  more 
available  to  the  poor  than  to  the  rich,  but  I  cannot. 
Last  month  in  this  very  court  a  boy,  younger  than  the 
defendant,  who  earned  his  living  as  a  driver  of  a  de 
livery  wagon,  was  sentenced  to  three  years  in  prison 


184  MANSLAUGHTER 

for  a  lesser  crime,  and  on  evidence  not  one-tenth  as 
convincing  as  the  evidence  now  before  you.  A  great 
many  of  us  felt  sorry  for  that  boy,  too,  but  we  felt 
that  essential  justice  was  done.  If  through  sentiment 
or  pity  essential  justice  cannot  be  done  in  this  case,  if 
sex,  wealth  or  conspicuous  position  is  a  guarantee  of 
immunity,  a  blow  will  be  dealt  to  the  respect  for  law 
in  this  country  for  which  you  gentlemen  must  take  the 
responsibility.  If  you  find  by  the  evidence  that  the 
defendant  has  committed  the  crime  for  which  she  is 
indicted  I  ask  you  to  face  that  fact  with  courage  and 
honesty,  and  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of  guilty." 

There  was  a  gentle  stir  in  the  court.  The  atten 
dant  announced  that  anyone  who  wished  to  leave  the 
court  must  do  so  immediately.  No  one  would  be  al 
lowed  to  move  while  the  judge  was  charging.  !N"o  one 
moved.  The  doors  were  closed,  the  attendants  lean 
ing  against  them. 

Wiley  bent  over  an'd  wispered,  "That  sort  of  class 
appeal  doesn't  succeed  nowadays.  Give  yourself  no 
concern." 

Concern  was  the  last  emotion  Lydia  felt,  or  rather 
she  felt  no  emotion  at  all.  Her  interest  had  suddenly] 
collapsed,  the  game  was  over.  She  was  aware  that  the! 
air  of  the  court  room  was  close  and  that  she  felt  in 
expressibly  tired,  especially  in  her  wrists. 

The  judge  wheeled  toward  the  jury  and.1  drew  in! 
his  chin  until  it  seemed  to  rest  upon  his  spinal 
column. 


/ 


MANSLAUGHTEK  185 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  said,  "we  have  now; 
reached  that  stage  in  this  trial  when  it  is  my  duty  to 
present  the  matter  for  your  deliberation.  You  know 
that  the  law  makes  a  distinction  between  the  duty  of 
the  court  and  the  duty  of  the  jury.  You  are  the  judge 
and  the  only  judge  of  the  facts,  but  you  must  accept 
the  law  from  the  court.  You  must  not  consider 
whether  or  not  you  approve  of  the  law ;  whether  you 
could  or  could  not  make  a  better  law." 

Lydia  suppressed  a  yawn. 

"The  tiresome  old  man,"  she  thought.  "He  act 
ually  seems  to  enjoy  saying  all  that." 

His  Honor  went  on  defining  a  reasonable  doubt : 

"It  is  not  a  whim  or  a  speculation  or  a  surmise. 
It  is  a  doubt  founded  on  reason  —  on  a  reason  which 
may  be  stated." 

Lydia  thought,  "Imagine  drawing  a  salary  for  tell 
ing  people  that  a  reasonable  doubt  is  a  doubt  founded! 
on  reason."  She  had  not  imagined  that  she  would  be 
bored  at  any  moment  of  her  own  trial,  but  she  was  — 
bored  beyond  belief. 

"I  must  call  your  attention  to  Section.  .30  of  the 
Penal  Law,  which  says  that  whenever  a  crime  is  dis 
tinguished  into  degrees,  the  jury,  if  they  convict, 
must  find  the  degree  of  the  crime  of  which  the  pris 
oner  is  guilty.  Manslaughter  is  a  crime  distinguished 
into  degrees  —  namely,  the  first  and  the  second 
degree." 

Lydia  thought  that  if  by  this  time  the  jury  did  not 


186  MANSLAUGHTER 

know  the  distinction  between  the  two  they  must 
be  half-witted,  but  His  Honor  went  on  to  define 
them: 

"In  the  first  degree,  when  committed  without  de 
sign  to  effect  death  by  a  person  committing  or  at 
tempting  to  commit  a  misdemeanor." 

She  thought  that  she  knew  that  phrase  now,  as 
when  she  was  a  child  she  had  known  some  of  the  rules 
of  Latin  grammar  —  verbs  conjugated  with  ad,  anie, 
con,  in,  inter  —  what  did  they  do  ?  How  funny  that 
she  couldn't  remember.  Her  eyes  had  again  fixed 
themselves  on  the  spot  on  the  carpet  so  near  O'Ban- 
non's  feet  that  she  was  aware  of  any  movement  on 
his  part,  and  yet  she  was  not  looking  at  him.  A  fly 
came  limply  crawling  into  her  vision,  and  her  eyes 
followed  it  as  it  lit  on  O'Bannon's  boot.  She  glanced 
up  to  where  his  hand  was  resting  on  his  knee,  and 
then  wrenched  her  eyes  away  —  back  to  the  floor 
again. 

"If  you  find  that  the  defendant  is  not  guilty  of 
manslaughter  in  the  first  degree  you  must  then  con 
sider  whether  or  not  she  is  guilty  of  manslaughter  in 
the  second  degree  —  that  is,  whether  she  occasioned  the 
death  of  Drummond  by  an  act  of  culpable  negligence. 
Culpable  negligence  has  been  defined  by  Recorder 
Smyth  in  the  case  of  —  in  the  case  of  the  People 
against  Bedenseick  as  the  omission  to  do  something 
which  a  reasonable  and  prudent  man  would  do,  or  the 
doing  of  something  which  such  a  man  would  not  do 


MANSLAUGHTER  187 

under  the  circumstances  of  each  particular  case.  Or, 
jyhat  is  the  same  thing " 

How  incredibly  tiresome !  She  glanced  at  the  jury. 
They  were  actually  listening,  drinking  in  the  judge's 
words.  All  of  a  sudden  she  knew  by  his  tone  that  ha 
was  coming  to  an  end. 

"If  you  find  that  a  killing  has  taken  place,  but  that 
it  is  not  manslaughter  in  either  degree,  then  it  is 
your  duty  to  acquit.  If  on  the  other  hand  you  find  the 
defendant  guilty  in  either  degree  you  must  not  con 
sider  the  penalty  which  may  be  imposed.  That  is  the 
province  of  the  court ;  yours  is  to  consider  the  facts. 
Such,  gentlemen,  is  the  law.  The  evidence  is  before 
you.  You  are  at  liberty  to  believe  or  to  disbelieve  the 
testimony  of  any  witness  in  part  or  as  a  whole,  ac 
cording  to  your  common  sense.  Weigh  the  testimony, 
giving  each  fact  its  due  proportion;  and  then, 
according  to  your  best  judgment,  render  your 
yerdict.J> 

His  Honor  was  silent.  There  were  a  few  requests 
to  charge  from  both  sides,  and  the  jury  filed  solemnly 
out.  Almost  without  a  pause  the  next  case  was  called, 
the  attendant's  voice  ringing  out  as  before  —  "The 
case  of  the  People  against " 

Lydia  felt  disinclined  to  move,  as  if  even  her  bones 
twere  made  of  some  soft  dissoluble  material.  Then 
she  saw  that  she  had  no  choice.  The  next  prisoner 
was  waiting  for  her  place  —  an  unshaven,  hollow-eyed 
Italian,  with  a  stout,  gray-clad  lawyer  who  looked 


188  MANSLAUGHTER 

like  Caruso  at  his  side.  As  she  left  the  court  she 
£ould  hear  the  clerk  calling  the  new  jury. 

".William  Koberts." 

"Seat  Number  One." 

Judge  Homans  flattered  himself  particularly  on  tho 
celerity  [with  which  his  court  moved. 


CHAPTER  XII 

SEYEEAL  of  the  New  York  papers  the  next 
morning  carried  editorials  commending  the  ver- 
Jlict.  Lydia  sitting  up  in  bed  with  a  breakfast 
tray  on  her  knee,  read  them  coolly  through. 

"The  safety  of  the  highways"  —  "the  irresponsi 
bility  of  the  younger  generation,  particularly  among 
those  of  great  wealth"  —  "pity  must  not  degenerate 
into  sentimentality,,  —  "the  equal  administration  of 
our  laws " 

So  the  public  was  pleased  with  the  verdict,  was  it  ? 
It  little  knew.  She  herself  was  filled  with  bitterness. 
The  moment  of  the  delivery  of  the  verdict  had  been 
terrible  to  her. 

She  had  not  minded  the  hours  of  waiting.  She  had 
felt  deadened,  without  special  interest  in  what  the 
jury  decided.  But  this  had  changed  the  moment 
^vord  came  that  the  jury  had  reached  a  verdict.  There 
yas  a  terrible  interval  while  the  familiar  roll  of  their 
names  was  called  for  the  last  time.  Then  she  was 
told  to  stand  up  and  face  them,  or  rather  to  face  the 
foreman,  Josiah  Howell,  a  bearded  man  with  a  lined 
brown  face.  He  looked  almost  tremulously  grave. 

Lydia  set  her  jaw,  looking  at  him  and  thinking, 

189 


190  MANSLAUGHTER 

"What  business  have  you  interfering  in  my  fate  ?" 
But  he  was  not  the  figure  she  was  most  aware  of.  It 
was  the  district  attorney,  whose  excitement  she  knew; 
Was  as  great  as  her  own. 

"How  say  you?"  said  a  voice.  "Guilty  or  not 
guilty?" 

"Guilty  of  manslaughter  in  the  second  degree," 
answered  the  foreman. 

Lydia  knew  every  eye  in  the  court  room  was  turned 
on  her.  She  had  heard  of  defendants  who  fainted  on 
hearing  an  adverse  verdict  —  keeled  over  like  dead 
people.  But  one  does  not  faint  from  anger,  and 
anger  was  Lydia's  emotion  —  anger  that  "that  man" 
had  actually  obtained  the  verdict  he  wanted.  Her 
breath  came  fast  and  her  nostrils  dilated.  How  sick 
ening  that  she  had  nothing  to  do  but  stand  there  and 
let  him  triumph!  "No  subsequent  reversal  would 
take  away  this  moment  from  him. 

The  jury  was  thanked  and  dismissed.  Wiley  was 
•busy  putting  in  pleas  that  would  enable  her  to  re 
main  at  liberty  during  the  appeal  of  her  case.  She 
stood  alone,  still  now  as  a  statue.  She  was  thinking 
that  some  day  the  world  should  know  by  what  meth 
ods  that  verdict  had  been  obtained. 

She  had  behaved  well  during  her  trial ;  had  lived 
a  life  of  retirement,  seeing  no  one  but  Wiley  and  her 
immediate  friends.  But  there  was  no  further  reason 
for  playing  a  part.  On  the  contrary  she  felt  it  would 
relieve  her  spirit  to  show  the  world  —  and  O'Bannon 


MANSLAUGHTER  191 

—  that  she  was  not  beaten  yet.  She  did  not  intend  to 
look  upon  herself  as  a  criminal  because  he  had  in 
duced  a  jury  to  convict  her. 

She  bought  herself  some  new  clothes  and  went  out 
every  night,  dancing  till  dawn  and  sleeping  till  noon. 
She  began  a  new  flirtation,  this  time  with  a  good-look 
ing  insolent  young  English  actor,  Ludovic  Blythe, 
hardly  twenty-one,  with  a  strange  combination  of 
wickedness  and  naivete  that  some  English  boys 
possess.  Her  friends  disapproved  of  him  heartily. 

At  his  suggestion  she  engaged  a  passage  for  Eng 
land  for  early  July.  Wiley  warned  her  that  it  was 
unlikely  that  the  decision  in  her  case  would  be  handed 
down  as  soon  as  that,  and  if  it  were  not  she  could  not 
leave  the  country. 

"There's  no  harm  in  engaging  a  cabin,  is  there?" 
she  answered. 

Her  plan  was  to  take  in  the  end  of  the  London  sea1- 
son,  with  a  few  house  parties  in  the  English  country, 
to  spend  September  in  ^Venice,  two  weeks  in  Paris 
buying  clothes,  and  to  come  home  in  October. 

"To  Long  Island?"  Miss  Bennett  asked. 

"Of  course.  Where  else  ?"  answered  Lydia.  "Do? 
you  think  I  shall  allow  myself  to  be  driven  out  of  mjt 
own  home  ?" 

But  July  came  without  the  'decision,  and  Lydia 
was  obliged  to  cancel  her  passage.  She  was  annoye'd. 

"Those  lazy  old  judges,"  she  said,  "have  actually 
adjourned  for  two  months*  and  now  I  can't  get  off 


192  MA1STSLAUGHTEE 

until  September."  Her  tone  indicated  that  she  was 
doing  a  good  deal  for  the  law  of  her  country,  chang 
ing  her  plans  like  this. 

O'Bannon,  she  heard,  was  taking  a  holiday  too  — 
going  to  Wyoming  for  a  month.  She  thought  that 
she  would  like  to  see  something  of  the  West,  but  in 
stead  she  took  a  house  at  Newport  for  August  —  a 
fevered  month.  Elythe  came  to  spend  Sunday  with 
her  and  stayed  two  weeks,  fell  in  love  with  May 
Swayne,  attempted  to  use  his  position  as  a  guest  of 
Lydia's  to  make  himself  appear  a  more  desirable 
suitor  in  the  eyes  of  the  Swayne  family  —  a  solid  old- 
fashioned  fortune  —  and  was  turned  out  by  Lydia 
after  a  scene  of  unusual  violence. 

A  feud  followed  in  which  many  people  took  —  and 
ichanged  —  sides.  Lydia  fought  gayly,  briskly  in  the 
open.  Her  object  was  not  Blythe's  death,  but  his 
social  extinction,  and  her  method  was  not  cold  steel 
but  ridicule.  The  war  was  won  when  May  was  made 
to  see  him  as  an  impossible  figure,  comic,  on  the  make 
—  as  perhaps  he  was,  but  no  more  so  than  when  Lydia 
herself  had  received  him.  After  this,  though  he  lin 
gered  on  a  few  days  at  a  hotel,  his  ultimate  disappear 
ance  was  certain.  Lydia  and  May  remained  friends 
throughout — as  much  friends  as  they  had  ever  been. 
Since  the  day  of  their  first  meeting  the  two  women 
had  never  permitted  any  man  to  be  a  friend  of  both  of 
them. 

Albee  came  and  spent  a  brief  twenty-four  houra 


MANSLAUGHTER  103" 

with  her  between  a  midnight  train  and  Sunday  boat,* 
He  was  in  the  midst  of  a  campaign  as  United  States 
senator  from  his  own  state — certain  of  election.- 
Lydia  was  kind  and  patient  with  him,  but  frankly 
bored. 

"There's  more  stuff  in  Bobby,"  she  confided  to 
•Benny,  "who  doesn't  expect  you  to  tremble  at  his  nod. 
I  hate  fake  strong  men.  I  always  feel  tempted  to 
call  their  bluff.  It's  a  hard  role  they  want  to  play. 
If  they  don't  break  you,  you  despise  them.  If  they] 
do  —  why,  you're  broken,  no  good  to  anyone." 

She  asked  Eleanor  to  come  and  spend  August  with' 
her,  but  Eleanor  refused,  saying,  what  was  true 
enough,  that  she  couldn't  bear  Newport.  She  could 
bear  even  less  constant  association  with  Lydia  at  thisi 
moment.  Lydia's  one  preoccupation  when  they  were 
together  was  to  destroy  Eleanor's  friendship  for 
O'Bannon.  Often  in  old  times  Eleanor  had  laughed 
at  the  steady  persistence  that  Lydia  put  into  this  sort 
of  campaign  of  hate,  but  she  could  not  laugh  now,  for 
as  a  matter  of  fact  her  friendship  with  O'Bannon 
was  already  destroyed.  She  hardly  saw  him,  and  if 
she  did  there  was  a  veil  between  them.  He  was  kind, 
he  was  open  with  her,  he  was  everything  except  in 
terested. 

Eleanor  loved  O'Bannon,  but  with  so  intellectual 
a  process  that  she  was  not  far  wrong  in  considering 
it  was  a  friendship.  She  would  have  married  him  if 
he  had  asked  her,  but  she  would  have  done  so  princi- 


194:  MANSLAUGHTER 

pally  to  insure  herself  of  his  company.  If  anyone 
could  have  guaranteed  that  they  would  continue  all 
their  lives  to  live  within  a  few  yards  of  each  other 
she  would  have  been  content  —  content  even  with  the 
knowledge  that  every  now  and  then  some  other  less 
reasonable  woman  would  come  and  sweep  him  away 
from  her.  She  knew  he  was  of  a  temperament  sus 
ceptible  to  terrible  gusts  of  emotion,  but  she  consid 
ered  that  that  was  her  hold  upon  him  —  she  was  so 
safe. 

The  remoteness  that  came  to  their  relation  now 
indicated  another  woman,  and  yet  she  knew  his 
everyday  life  well  enough  to  know  that  he  was 
seeing  no  one  except  herself  and  Alma  Wooley; 
and  though  there  was  some  gossip  about  his  attention 
to  the  girl,  Eleanor  felt  she  understood  the  reason  for 
it.  Alma  made  him  feel  emotionally  what  he  knew 
rationally  —  that  his  prosecution  of  Lydia  had  been 
merely  an  act  of  justice.  Alma  thought  him  the 
greatest  of  men  and  was  tremulously  grateful  to  him 
for  establishing  her  dead  lover  as  a  hero  —  a  man 
killed  in  the  performance  of  his  duty.  To  her  imag 
ination  Lydia  was  an  unbelievable  horror,  like  a 
wicked  princess  in  a  fairy  tale.  Eleanor  wondered  if 
she  did  not  seem  somewhat  the  same  to  O'Bannon. 
He  never  mentioned  her  name  when  she,  Eleanor, 
spoke  of  her.  It  was  like  dropping  a  stone  into  a 
bottomless  well.  She  listened  and  listened,  and  noth 
ing  came  back  from  O'Bannon's  abysmal  silence. 


MANSLAUGHTER  195 

He  spoke  of  her  only  once,  and  that  was  when  he  came 
to  say  good-by  to  Eleanor  the  day  he  started  for  Wy 
oming.  He  was  eager  to  get  away  —  into  those  moun 
tains,  to  sleep  under  the  stars  and  forget  everything 
and  everybody  in  the  East. 

"Mercy/7  Eleanor  thought,  "how  ruthless  men  are ! 
I  wouldn't  let  any  friend  of  mine  see  I  was  glad  to 
leave  him,  even  if  I  were." 

"It's  a  rotten  job  —  mine,"  he  said.  "I'm  always 
Bending  people  to  prison  who  are  either  so  abnormal 
they  don't  seem  human  or  else  so  human  they  seem 
just  like  myself." 

Presently  Eleanor  mentioned  that  Lydia  had  asked 
her  to  go  to  Newport  for  a  month.  O'Bannon  turned 
bn  her  sharply. 

"And  are  you  going?" 

She  said  no,  but  it  did  not  save  her  from  his  con 
tempt. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  a  friend  of  that 
•woman's,  Eleanor,"  he  said. 

"Lydia  has  the  most  attaching  qualities  when  you 
know  her,  Dan." 

"Attaching !"  he  broke  out  with  a  suppressed  irri 
tation  she  had  never  seen  —  a  strange  hate  of  her, 
Eleanor,  for  saying  such  a  thing.  "Arrogant,  inflex 
ible,  using  all  her  gifts  —  her  brains  and  her 
incredible  beauty  —  just  to  advance  her  own  selfish 
ends!" 

An  impulse  based  partly  on  pure  loyalty  but  partly; 


196  MANSLAUGHTER 

ton  the  idea  that  she  could  improve  her  position  by 
showing  her  friend  was  not  quite  a  monster  made  her 
answer,  "You  wouldn't  believe,  Dan,  how  if  she 
really  cares  for  you  she  can  be  tender  almost  cling- 
ing." 

"For  God's  sake  don't  let's  talk  of  her!"  said 
O'Bannon,  and  it  was  on  this  note  that  they  parted. 

He  wrote  to  her  only  once,  though  his  letters  to  his 
mother  were  always  at  her  disposal.  She  saw  a  great 
deal  of  the  old  lady,  who  developed  a  mild  pleurisy 
as  soon  as  her  son's  back  was  turned  and  didn't  want 
Dan  told  of  it.  Eleanor  spent  most  of  that  hot 
August  taking  care  of  her. 

"I  want  him  to  have  an  uninterrupted  holiday,'* 
said  Mrs.  O'Bannon  firmly.  "He  hasn't  been  well. 
He  dosen't  sleep  as  he  ought  to,  and  he's  cross,  and 
you  know  it's  not  like  Dan  to  be  cross." 

On  the  last  day  of  August  he  was  back,  lean  and 
sunburned,  announcing  himself  to  be  in  excellent 
condition.  His  first  question  was  about  the  Thorne 
case. 

"Are  you  anxious  about  it?"  said  his  mother. 

"JSTot  a  bit.    They  can't  reverse  us,"  he  answered. 

After  Labor  Day  Lydia  moved  back  to  her  Long 
Island  house,  and  she  was  there  when  the  decsion  in 
her  case  was  handed  down.  The  verdict  of  the  lower 
court  was  sustained.  It  was  a  great  blow  to  her — • 
perhaps  the  first  real  blow  she  had  ever  received.  She 
had  so  firmly  made  up  her  mind  that  the  former  ver- 


MANSLAUGHTER  197. 

diet  had  been  the  result  of  undue  influence  of  the  dis 
trict  attorney  that  she  had  thought  it  impossible  that 
the  higher  court  would  uphold  it.  Another  triumph 
for  "that  man !"  The  idea  of  punishment  was  horri 
ble  to  her  —  to  be  fined  as  a  criminal.  She  still  did 
not  conceive  it  a  possibility  that  she  could  be  sent  to 
prison. 

"I  can  think  of  lots  of  ways  in  which  I'd  rather 
Bpend  a  thousand  dollars,"  was  her  only  comment. 

But  day  and  night  she  thought  of  the  scene  in 
court  when  she  must  present  herself  for  sentence.  In: 
secret  her  courage  failed  her.  It  would  be  the  visible 
symbol  of  O'Bannon's  triumph  over  her.  Yet  her 
will  threw  itself  in  vain  against  the  necessity.  Noth 
ing  but  death  could  save  her.  It  would  be  short  any 
how.  She  knew  how  it  would  be.  She  and  Wiley 
would  appear  in  the  midst  of  some  other  wretch's1 
trial.  There  would  be  whisperings  about  the  judge's 
desk,  and  O'Bannon  would  be  there  —  not  looking  at 
her,  but  triumphing  in  his  black  heart,  and  the  judge 
would  say  "A  thousand-dollar  fine,"  or  —  no,  nothing 
BO  succinct.  He  would  find  it  an  opportunity  to  talk 
about  her  and  her  case  first.  And  then  she  would 
pay  the  money  and  leave  court,  a  convicted  crim 
inal. 

And  then  the  second  stage  would  begin.  It  would 
be  her  turn.  She  would  give  her  life  to  getting  even.1 
with  O'Bannon.  She  who  had  always  needed  a  purpose 
i —  a  string  on  which  to  thread  her  life  —  had  found 


198  MANSLAUGHTER 

it  in  hate.  Most  people  found  it  in  love,  but  for  her 
part  she  enjoyed  hate.  It  was  exciting  and  active, 
and,  oh,  what  a  climax  it  promised!  Yes,  like  the 
adventuress  in  the  melodrama,  she  would  go  to  him 
herself  and  say:  "I've  waited  ten  years  to  ruin  you, 
and  now  I've  done  it.  Have  you  been  wondering  all 
these  years  what  was  against  you  —  what  held  you 
back  and  poisoned  everything  you  touched  ?  It  was 
I!" 

Other  people,  she  knew,  thought  such  things  and 
never  put  them  in  action.  But  she  had  no  reason  to 
distrust  the  power  of  her  own  will,  and  never  had  she 
willed  anything  as  she  willed  this.  She  began  to<  ar 
range  it.  There  were  three  ways  in  which  you  could 
hurt  .a  man  —  through  his  love,  through  his  ambitions 
and  through  his  finances.  A  crooked  politician  like 
O'Bannon  might  suffer  most  by  being  ruined  politi 
cally.  She  must  always  keep  some  hold  on  Albee  for 
that.  Money  probably  wouldn't  greatly  matter  to 
O'Bannon.  But  love  —  he  was  an  emotional  creature. 
Women,  she  felt  sure,  played  a  tremendous  role  in 
his  life.  And  he  was  attractive  to  them  —  accustomed 
to  success  probably.  Oh,  to  think  that  she  had  been 
for  a  few  seconds  acquiescent  in  his  arms !  And  yet 
that  meant  that  she  had  power  over  him.  She  knew 
she  had  power.  Should  that  be  her  method  —  to  make 
him  think  that  she  had  seen  him  not  as  an  enemy  but 
as  a  hero,  a  crusader,  a  master,  that  she  was  an  ador 
ing  victim  ?  Oh,  how  easily  she  could  make  love  to 


MANSLAUGHTER  199 

him,  and  how  successfully !  She  could  imagine  going 
down  on  her  knees  to  him,  winding  herself  about  him, 
only  she  must  have  the  climax  ready  so  that  at  the 
same  second  she  would  destroy  both  his  love  and 
career.  She  must  wait,  and  it  would  be  hard  to  wait ; 
but  she  must  wait  until  she  and  Albee  had  dug  a  deep 
pit.  Then  she  would  call  him  to  her  and  he  would 
have  to  come.  It  was  by  thinking  these  thoughts  that 
she  managed  to  come  into  court  calm  and  cold  as 
steel. 

"What  have  you  now  to  say  why  the  judgment  of 
the  court  should  not  be  pronounced  upon  you  ?" 

The  judge  beckoned  her  and  Wiley  to  his  desk. 
O'Bannon  was  already  there,  standing  so  close  that 
her  arm  would  have  touched  his  if  she  had  not  shrunk 
away.  She  trembled  with  hate.  It  was  horrible  to  be 
so  near  him.  She  heard  his  own  breath  unsteadily 
drawn.  Across  the  space  that  parted  them  waves  of 
some  tangible  emotion  leaped  to  and  fro.  She  looked 
up  at  him  and  found  that  he,  with  clenched  hands  and 
drawn  brows,  was  looking  at  her.  So  they  remained- 

"Your  Honor,"  said  Wiley  in  his  smooth  tones, 
"I  would  like  to  ask  that  a  fine  rather  than  a  prison 
sentence  be  imposed  on  this  prisoner,  not  only  on  ac 
count  of  her  youth  and  previous  good  record,  but  be 
cause  to  a  woman  of  her  sheltered  upbringing  a  prison, 
sentence  is  a  more  severe  punishment  than  the  law, 
contemplated." 

"I  entirely  disagree  with  you,  counselor,"  said  the 


200  MANSLAUGHTER 

judge  in  a  loud  ringing  tone.  "The  feature  that 
makes  the  court  so  reluctant  ordinarily  to  impose 
prison  sentences  is  the  subsequent  difficulty  in  earning 
a  living.  That  consideration  is  entirely  absent  in  the 
present  case.  On  the  other  hand,  to  impose  a  fine 
would  be  palpably  ridiculous,  constituting  for  this 
defendant  no  punishment  whatsoever.  I  sentence  this 
prisoner"  —  the  judge  paused  and  drew  in  his  chin  — 
"to  not  less  than  three  nor  more  than  seven  years  in 
state's  prison. 

She  heard  Wiley  passionately  pleading  with  Judge 
Homans.  A  blue-coated  figure  was  now  standing  be 
side  her.  It  was  still  incredible. 

"This  is  your  doing,"  she  heard  her  own  voice  say 
ing  very  softly  to  O'Bannon. 

To  her  surprise  she  saw  that  emotion,  what  emotion 
she  did  not  know,  made  it  impossible  for  him  to 
answer.  His  eyes  stared  at  her  out  of  a  face  whiter 
than  her  own.  It  was  his  emotion  that  communicated 
her  own  situation  to  her.  His  hand  on  the 
jflesk  was  shaking.  She  knew  he  could  not  have 
done  what  she  proceeded  to  do.  She  turned  and 
walked  with  the  policeman  to  the  iron-latticed  pas 
sageway  that  led  to  jail. 

As  the  door  clanged  behind  her  O'Bannon  turned 
and  walked  out  of  court,  and  getting  into  his  car  drove 
away  westward.  At  two  in  the  morning  Eleanor  was 
waked  by  a  telephone  from  Mrs.  O'Bannon.  Dan  had 
not  come  home.  She  was  afraid  something  had  hap- 


MAXSLAUGHTEE  201 

pened  to  him.  A  man  in  his  position  had  many  ene 
mies.  Did  Eleanor  think  that  some  friend  or  lover 
of  that  Thome  girl 

Oh,  no,  Eleanor  was  sure  not ! 

The  next  morning  —  for  a  small  town  holds  few 
secrets  —  she  knew  that  O'Bannon  had  returned  at  six 
o'clock,  drunk. 

"Oh,  dear  heaven,"  thought  Eleanor,  "must  he  re- 
travel  that  road  P 


CHAPTER  XIII 

LYDIA  and  her  guard  arrived  at  the  prison 
early  in  the  evening.  She  had  heen  travelling 
all  through  the  hot,  bright  September  day. 
For  the  first  hour  she  had  been  only  aware  of  the  prox 
imity  of  the  guard,  of  the  crowded  car,  the  mingled 
smell  of  oranges  and  coal  smoke,  the  newspaper  on  the 
floor,  trodden  by  every  foot,  containing  probably  an 
account  of  her  departure  for  her  long  imprisonment. 
Then,  her  eyes  wandering  to  the  river,  she  suddenly 
remembered  that  it  would  be  years  before  she  saw 
mountains  and  flowing  water  again.  Perhaps  she 
would  never  see  them  again. 

During  the  previous  winter  she  had  gone  with 
Benny  ,and  Mrs.  Galton  to  visit  a  prison  in  a  neigh 
boring  state  —  a  man's  prison.  It  was  considered  an 
unfortunate  example.  Scenes  from  that  visit  came 
back  to  her  in  a  series  of  pictures.  A  giant  negro 
laighwayman  weaving  at  an  immense  loom  with  a 
heavy,  hopeless  regularity.  Black,  airless  punish 
ment  cells  —  "never  used  nowadays/'  the  warden  had 
&aid  lightly,  and  had  been  corrected  by  a  low  murmur 
from  the  keeper;  two  of  them  were  in  use  at  the 
moment.  The  tiers  of  ordinary  cells,  not  so  very; 

202 


MANSLAUGHTEK  203 

ranch  better,  with,  their  barred  loopholes.  And  the 
smells  —  the  terrible  prison  smells.  At  their  best,  dis 
infectant  and  stale  soap;  at  worst  —  Lydia  never 
knew  that  it  was  possible  to  remember  a  smell  as  she 
now  remembered  that  one.  But  most  of  all  she  re 
membered  the  chalky  pallor  of  some  of  the  prisoners, 
some  obviously  tubercular,  others  twitching  with 
nervous  affections.  She  doubted  coolly  if  many  peo 
ple  were  strong  enough  to  go  through  years  of  that 
sort  of  thing. 

So  she  would  look  at  the  river  as  if  she  might  never 
see  it  again. 

They  were  already  in  the  Highlands,  and  the  hills 
on  the  eastern  side  —  her  side  of  the  river  —  were 
throwing  ,a  morning  shadow  on  the  water,  while 
across  the  way  the  white  marble  buildings  at  West 
Point  shone  in  the  sunlight.  Storm  King  with  its 
abrupt  bulk  interposed  itself  between  the  two  sections 
of  new  road  —  the  road  which  Lydia  had  so  much  de 
sired  to  see  finished.  She  and  Bobby  had  had  a  plan 
to  motor  along  it  to  the  Emmonses  some  day  —  New- 
burgh.  There  was  a  hotel  there  where  she  had 
stopped  once  for  luncheon  on  her  way  to  Tuxedo  from 
eomewhere  or  other.  Then  presently  the  bridge  at 
Poughkeepsie,  and  then  the  station  at  which  she  had 
got  out  when  she  had  spent  Sunday  with  the  Emmonses, 
the  day  Evans  had  been  arrested  and  had  confessed 

to  that  man There  was  the  very  pillar  she  had 

waited  beside  while  the  chauffeur  looked  up  her  bags. 


204  MANSLAUGHTER 

"Now  the  river  began  to  narrow,  there  were  marshy 
islands  in  it,  and  huge  shaky  ice  houses  along  the 
brink.  It  all  unrolled  before  her  like  a  picture  that 
she  was  never  going  to  see  again.  Then  Albany,  set 
on  its  hills,  and  the  train,  turning  sharply,  rumbled 
over  the  bridge  into  the  blackened  station.  Almost 
everybody  in  the  car  got  out  here,  for  the  train  stopped 
some  time;  but  she  and  her  guard  remained  sitting 
silently  side  by  side.  Then  presently  they  were  go 
ing  on  again,  through  the  beautiful  wide  fertile  valley 

of  the  Mohawk They  were  getting  near,  very 

near.  She  felt  not  frightened  but  physically  sick. 
She  wondered  if  her  hair  would  be  cut  short.  Of 
course  it  would.  It  seemed  to  her  like  an  indignity 
committed  by  O'Bannon's  own  hand. 

It  was  dark  when  they  reached  the  station,  so  dark 
that  she  could  not  get  a  definite  idea  of  anything  but 
the  great  wall  of  the  prison,  and  the  clang  of  the  un 
barring  of  the  great  gate.  Later  she  came  to  know 
the  doorway  with  its  incongruous  beauty — the  white 
door  with  its  fanlight  and  side  windows,  and  two  low 
stairways  curving  up  to  it,  and,  above,  the  ironwork 
porch,  supported  on  square  ironwork  columns  of  a 
leaf  pattern,  suggestive  somehow  of  an  old  wistaria 
vine.  But  now  she  knew  nothing  between  the  gate 
and  the  opening  of  the  front  door. 

She  entered  what  might  have  been  the  wide  hall  of 
an  old-fashioned  and  extraordinarily  bare  country 
house.  A  wide  stairway  rose  straight  before  her,  and 


MANSLAUGHTER  20& 

wide,  old-fashioned  doors  opened  formally  to  left  and 
right. 

She  was  taken  into  the  room  at  the  right — the 
matron's  room.  While  her  name  and  age  and  crime 
were  being  registered  she  stood  staring  straight  before 
her  where  bookshelves  ran  to  the  ceiling.  She  could 
recognise  familiar  bindings  —  the  works  of  Marion 
Crawford  and  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward. 

Calm  brown-eyed  women  seemed  to  surround  her, 
but  she  would  not  even  look  at  them.  Their  imper 
sonal  kindness  seemed  to  be  founded  on  the  insulting 
knowledge  of  her  utter  helplessness.  They  chatted  a 
little  with  the  guard  who  had  brought  her.  Was  the 
train  late  ?  Well,  not  as  bad  as  last  time. 

She  wondered  how  soon  they  would  cut  her  hair. 

After  a  little  while  she  was  taken  through  a  long 
fcorridor  directly  to  a  spacious  bathroom.  Her  clothes, 
wrapped  in  a  sheet,  were  borne  away.  At  this  Lydia 
gave  a  short  laugh.  It  pleased  her  as  a  sign  that  the 
routine  in  her  case  was  palpably  ridiculous  —  to  take 
away  her  things  as  if  they  were  infected.  She  was 
given  a  bath,  a  nightgown  of  most  unfriendly  texture 
was  handed  to  her,  and  presently  she  was  locked  in  her 
cell  —  still  in  possession  of  her  hair. 

She  felt  like  an  animal  in  a  trap  —  could  imagine 
herself  running  along  the  floor  smelling  at  cracks  for 
some  hope  of  escape,  with  that  strange  head  motion, 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  of  a  newly  caged 
animal. 


206  MAJSTSLAIJGHTEK 

More  even  than  the  locks  and  bolts,  she  minded  the 
open  grille  in  the  door,  like  an  eye  through  which  she 
might  at  any  moment  of  the  day  or  night  be  spied 
upon.  At  every  footstep  she  prepared  herself  to  meet 
;with  a  defiant  stare  the  eyes  of  an  inspector.  The  cell 
was  hardly  a  cell,  but  a  room  larger  than  most  hall 
bedrooms.  The  bed  had  a  white  cover;  so  had  the 
table ;  and  the  window,  though  barred,  was  large.  But 
this  made  no  impression  on  Lydia.  She  was  con 
scious  of  being  locked  in.  Only  her  pride  and  her 
hard  common  sense  kept  her  from  beating  at  the  door 
with  her  bare  hands  and  making  one  of  those  scream 
ing  outbreaks  so  familiar  to  prison  officials. 

She  who  had  never  been  coerced  was  now  to  be 
coerced  in  every  action,  surrounded  everywhere  by 
symbols  of  coercion.  She  who  had  been  so  intense  an 
individualist  that  she  had  discarded  a  French  model 
if  she  saw  other  women  wearing  it  was  now  to  wear 
a  striped  gingham  dress  of  universal  pattern.  She 
whose  competent  white  hands  had  never  done  a  piece 
of  useful  work  was  sentenced  to  not  less  than  three  or 
more  than  seven  years  of  hard  labor.  What  would 
that  be  —  hard  labor  ?  The  vison  of  that  giant  negro 
working  hopelessly]  at  his  loom  was  before  her  all 
night  long. 

All  night  long  she  wandered  up  and  down  her  cell, 
liow  and  then  laying  her  hand  on  the  door  to  assure 
herself  of  the  incredible  fact  that  it  was  locked.  Only 
for  a  few  minutes  at  dawn  she  fell  asleep,  forgetting 


MANSLAUGHTER  207 

the  catastrophe,  the  malignant  fate  that  had  overtaken 
her,  and  woke  imagining  herself  at  home. 

When  her  cell  door  was  unlocked  she  stepped 
out  into  the  same  corridor  along  which  she  had  passed! 
the  night  before.  She  found  it  a  blaze  of  sunlight. 
Great  patches  of  sunlight  fell  in  barred  patterns  on 
the  boards  of  the  floor,  scrubbed  as  white  as  the  deck 
of  a  man-of-war.  Remembering  the  gloomy  granite 
loopholes  of  her  imagination,  this  sun  seemed  inso 
lently  bright. 

The  law  compels  every  prisoner,  unless  specially 
exempted,  to  spend  an  hour  a  day  in  school.  Lydia's 
examination  was  satisfactory  enough  to  exempt  her, 
but  she  was  set  to  work  in  the  schoolroom,  giving  out 
books,  helping  with  papers,  erasing  the  blackboards, 
collecting  the  chalk  and  erasers.  In  this,  way  the 
whole  population  of  the  prison  —  about  seventy-five 
women  —  passed  before  her  in  the  different  grades. 
She  might  have  found  interest  and  opportunity,  but 
she  was  in  no  humor  to  be  cooperative. 

She  sat  there  despising  them  all,  feeling  her  own  es 
sential  difference  —  from  the  bright-eyed  Italian  girl 
who  had  known  no  English  eighteen  months  before 
and  was  now  so  industrious  a  student,  to  the  large, 
calm,  unbelievably  good-tempered  teacher.  The  at 
mosphere  of  the  room  was  not  that  of  a  prison  school 
but  of  a  kindergarten.  That  was  what  annoyed 
Lydia  —  that  these  women  seemed  to  like  to  learn. 
They  spelled  with  enthusiasm  —  these  grown  women. 


£08  MANSLAUGHTER 

itJp  and  down  pages  they  went,  spelling  "passenger" 
and  "transfer"  and  "station"  —  it  was  evidently  a 
lesson  about  a  trolley  car.  Was  she,  Lydia  Thorne, 
expected  to  join  joyfully  in  some  such  child-like  disci 
pline?  In  mental  arithmetic  the  competition  grew 
keener.  Muriel,  a  soft-voiced  colored  girl,  made  eight 
and  seven  amount  to  thirteen.  The  class  laughed 
gayly.  Lydia  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Oh,"  she  thought,  "he  might  better  have  killed  me 
ihan  this !" 

It  seemed  to  her  that  this  terrible  impersonal  rou 
tine  was  turning  on  her  like  a  great  wheel  and  grind 
ing  her  into  the  earth.  What  incredible  perversity  it 
[was  that  no  one  —  no  prisoner,  no  guard,  not  even  the 
clear-eyed  matron  —  would  see  the  obvious  fact  that 
$he  was  not  a  criminal  as  these  others  were. 

Had  O'Bannqn's  power  reached  even  into  the  iso 
lation  of  prison  and  dictated  that  she  should  be  treated 
like  everyone  else  —  she  who  was  so  different  from 
these  uneducated,  emotional,  unstable  beings  about 
her? 

It  was  her  former  maid,  Evans,  who  destroyed  this 
illusion.  The  different  wards  of  the  prison  ate  sepa 
rately  ;  and  as  Evans  was  not  in  her  ward  they  did  not 
meet  during  the  day.  They  met  in  the  hour  after  tea, 
before  the  prisoners  were  locked  in  their  cells  for  the 
night;  an  hour  when  in  the  large  hall  they  were 
allowed  to  read  and  talk  and  sew  and  tat  —  tatting 
was  very  popular  just  then. 


MANSLAUGHTER  209 

Lydia  had  sunk  into  a  rocking-chair.  She  could 
not  fix  her  mind  on  a  hook,  and  she  did  not  know  how 
to  sew  or  tat,  and  talk  for  talk's  sake  had  never  heen 
one  of  her  amusements.  She  was  thinking  "One  day 
has  gone  hy  out  of  perhaps  seven  years.  In  seven 
years  I  shall  he  thirty-three,"  when  she  felt  some  one 
approaching  her,  and  looking  up  she  saw  it  was 
Evans. 

Evans,  in  a  striped  cotton,  did  not  look  so  different 
from  the  lady's  maid  of  the  old  days,  except,  as  Lydia 
noticed  with  vague  surprise,  she  had  put  on  weight. 
She  came  with  the  hurried  walk  that  made  her  skirts 
flip  out  at  her  heels  —  the  same  walk  with  which  she 
used  to  come  when  she  was  late  to  dress  Lydia  for 
dinner.  She  almost  expected  to  hear  the  familiar, 
"What  will  you  wear,  miss  ?"  A  dozen  memories 
flashed  into  her  mind  —  Evans  polishing  her  jewels  in, 
the  sunlight,  Evans  locked  in  the  disordered  hedroom 
refusing  her  confidence  to  everyone,  and  then  collaps 
ing  and  confessing  to  "that  man." 

She  looked  away  from  the  approaching  figure,  hopr 
ing  the  girl  would  take  the  hint;  hut  no,  Evans  was 
drawing  up  a  chair  with  something  of  the  manner  of 
a  hostess  to  a  new  arrival. 

"Oh,  Evans !"  was  Lydia's  greeting,  very  much  in 
her  old  manner. 

"You'd  better  call  me  Louisa  here  —  I  mean,  it's 
first  names  we  use,"  said  Evans. 

The  fact  had  already  been  called  to  her  former  em- 


210  MANSLAUGHTEK 

ployer's  attention  by  Muriel,  who  had  done  nothing 
but  call  her  Lydia  in  a  futile  effort  to  be  friendly. 
She  steeled  herself  to  hear  it  from  Evans,  who,  how 
ever,  managed  to  avoid  it.  She  gossiped  of  the  prison 
news,  and  tried  to  cheer  and  help  this  newcomer  with 
whatever  wisdom  she  had  acquired.  Lydia  neither 
moved  nor  answered  nor  again  looked  up. 

"As  the  matron  says/'  Evans  ran  on,  "the  worst  is 
over  when  you  get  here.  It's  the  trial  and  the  sen 
tence  and  the  journey  that's  worst.  After  a  week  or 
BO  you'll  begin  to  get  used  to  it," 

Lydia's  nostrils  trembled. 

"I  shall  never  get  used  to  it,"  she  said.  "I  don't 
belong  hero.  What  I  did  was  no  crime." 

There  was  a  short  pause.  Lydia  waited  for  Evans' 
cordial  agreement  to  what  seemed  a  self-evident  asser 
tion.  None  came.  Instead  she  said  gently,  as  she 
might  have  explained  to  a  child,  "Oh,  miss,  they, 
all  think  that!" 

"Think  what?" 

"That  what  they  did  was  no  real  harm  —  that  they 
were  unjustly  condemned.  There  isn't  one  here  who 
won't  tell  you  that.  The  worse  they  are  the  more  they; 
think  it." 

Lydia  had  looked  up  from  her  contemplation  of  the 
gray  rag  rug.  No  sermon  could  have  stopped  her  as 
short  as  that  —  the  idea  that  she  was  exactly  like  all 
the  other  inmates.  She  protested,  more  to  herself  than 
to  Evans. 


MANSLAUGHTEK  211 

"But  it  is  different !  What  I  did  was  an  accident, 
not  a  deliberate  crime." 

Evans  smiled  her  old,  rare,  gentle  smile. 

"But  the  law  says  it  was  a  crime." 

Horrible !  Horrible  but  true !  Lydia  was  to  find 
that  every  woman  there  felt  exactly  as  she  did ;  that 
she  was  a  special  case;  that  she  had  done  nothing 
wrong;  that  her  conviction  had  iDeen  brought  about 
by  an  incompetent  lawyer,  a  vindictive  district  attor 
ney,  a  bribed  jury,  a  perjured  witness.  The  first 
thing  each  of  them  wanted  to  explain  was  that  she  — 
like  Lydia  —  was  a  special  case. 

The  innocent-looking  little  girl  who  had  committed 
bigamy.  "Isn't  it  to  laugh  ?"  said  she.  "Gee,  when 
you  think  what  men  do  to  us !  And  I  get  five  years 
for  not  knowing  he  was  dead !  And  what  harm  did 
I  do  him  anyway  ?" 

And  the  gaunt  elderly  stenographer  who  had  run 
an  illicit  mail-order  business  for  her  employers. 
One  of  them  had  evidently  occupied  her  whole 
horizon,  taking  the  place  of  all  law,  moral  and 
judicial. 

"He  said  it  was  positively  legal,"  she  kept  repeat 
ing,  believing  evidently  that  the  judge  and  jury  had 
been  pitifully  misinformed. 

And  there  was  the  stout  middle-aged  woman  with 
Bandy  hair  and  a  bland  competent  manner  —  she  was 
competent.  She  had  made  a  specialty  of  real-estate 
frauds. 


212  MANSLAUGHTER 

"I  was  entirely  within  the  law,"  she  said,  as  one 
hardly  interested  to  argue  the  matter. 

And  there  were  gay  young  mulatto  girls  and  bright- 
eyed  Italians,  who  all  said  the  same  thing  —  "every 
one  does  it ;  only  the  other  girl  squealed  on  me"  —  and 
there  were  the  egotists,  who  were  never  going  to  get 
into  this  mess  again.  Some  girls  had  to  steal  for  a  liv 
ing;  they  had  brains  enough  to  go  straight.  Even 
the  woman  who  had  attempted  to  kill  her  husband  felt 
she  had  been  absolutely  within  her  rights  and  after 
hearing  her  story  Lydia  was  inclined  to  agree  withi 
her. 

Only  Evans  seemed  to  feel  that  her  sentence  had 
been  just. 

"]STo,  it  wasn't  right  what  I  did,"  she  said,  and  she 
stood  out  like  a  star,  superior  to  her  surroundings. 
She  only  was  learning  and  growing  in  the  terrible 
routine.  It  soon  began  to  seem  to  Lydia  that  this 
little  fool  of  a  maid  of  hers  was  a  great  person.  Why  ? 

Locked  in  her  cell  from  dark  to  daylight,  Lydia 
spent  much  of  the  time  in  thinking.  Like  a  great 
many  people  in  this  world,  she  had  never  thought  be 
fore.  She  had  particularly  arranged  her  life  so  she 
should  not  think.  Most  people  who  think  they  think 
really  dream.  Lydia  was  no  dreamer.  She  lacked 
the  romantic  imagination  that  makes  dreams  magical. 
Clear-sighted  and  pessimistic  when  she  looked  at  life, 
the  reality  had  seemed  hideous,  and  she  looked  away 
as  quickly  as  possible,  looked  back  to  the  material 


MANSLAUGHTER  213 

beauty  with  which  she  had  surrounded  herself  and  the 
pleasant  activities  always  within  reach.  Now,  cut  off 
from  pleasure  and  beauty,  it  seemed  to  her  for  the 
first  time  as  if  there  were  a  real  adventure  in  having 
the  courage  to  examine  the  whole  scheme  of  life.  Its 
pattern  could  hardly  be  more  hideous  than  that  of 
every  day. 

iWhat  was  she  ?  What  reason  had  she  for  living  ? 
[What  use  could  life  be  put  to  ?  What  was  the  truth  ? 

A  verse  she  could  not  place  kept  running  through 
her  head : 

Quand  j'ai  connu  la  Verite, 
J'ai  cru  que  c'etait  une  amie; 

Quand  je  I'ai  comprise  et  sentie, 
J'en  etais  deja  degoute. 

Et  pourtant  elle  est  eiernelle, 
Et  ceux  qul  se  sont  passes  d'elle 
Ici-bas  out  tout  ignore. 

She  had  been  deliberately  ignorant  of  much  of 
life  —  of  everything. 

She  went  through  a  period  of  despair,  all  the  worse 
because,  like  a  face  in  a  nightmare,  it  was  featureless. 
It  was  despair,  not  over  the  fact  that  she  was  in  prison 
but  over  the  whole  scheme  of  the  universe,  the  futile 
hordes  of  human  beings  living  and  hoping  and  failing 
and  passing  away. 

Despair    paralyzed    her    bodily    activities.      Her 


MANSLAUGHTER 

mind,  even  her  giant  will,  failed  her.  She  could 
neither  sleep  nor  eat,  and  after  a  week  of  it  was  taken 
to  the  hospital.  The  rumor  ran  through  the  prison 
that  she  was  going  mad  —  that  was  the  way  it  always 
began.  She  lay  in  the  hospital  two  days,  hardly  mov 
ing.  Her  face  seemed  to  have  shrunk  and  her  eyes  to 
have  grown  large  and  fiery.  The  doctor  came  and 
talked  to  her.  She  would  not  answer  him ;  she  would 
not  meet  his  gaze;  she  would  do  nothing  but  draw; 
long  unnatural  breaths  like  sighs. 

In  the  room  next  to  her  there  was  a  mother  with  a 
six-months-old  baby.  Lydia  at  the  best  of  times  had 
never  been  much  interested  in  babies,  though  all  young 
animals  made  a  certain  appeal  to  her.  Her  friends' 
babies,  swaddled  and  guarded  by  nurses,  lacked  the 
spontaneous  charm  of  a  kitten  or  a  puppy.  This 
baby,  however  —  Joseph  his  name  was,  and  he  was 
always  so  referred  to  —  was  different.  He  spent  a 
great  deal  of  time  alone,  sitting  erect  in  his  white  iron 
crib.  In  spite  of  the  conditions  of  his  birth,  he  was 
calm,  pink-cheeked  and  healthy.  The  first  day  that 
Lydia  was  up  she  glanced  at  him  as  she  passed  the 
door.  He  gave  her  somehow  the  impression  of  lead 
ing  a  life  apart.  At  first  she  only  used  to  stare  at 
him  from  the  doorway;  then  she  ventured  in,  leaned 
on  the  crib,  offered  him  a  finger  to  which  he  clung, 
invented  a  game  of  clapping  of  hands,  and  was  re 
warded  by  a  toothless  smile  and  a  long  complicated 
gurgle  of  delight. 


MANSLAUGHTER  215 

The  sound  was  too  much,  for  Ljdia  —  the  idea  that 
the  baby  was  glad  to  be  starting  out  on  the  tortured 
adventure  of  living.  She  went  back  to  her  own  room 
in  tears,  weeping  not  for  her  own  griefs  but  because 
all  human  beings  were  so  infinitely  pathetic. 

The  next  day,  Anna,  the  mother,  came  in  while  she 
was  bending  over  the  crib.  Lydia  knew  her  story, 
the  common  one  —  the  story  of  a  respectable,  sheltered 
girl  falling  suddenly,  wildly  in  love  with  a  handsome 
boy,  and  finding,  when  after  a  few  months  he  wearied 
of  her,  that  she  had  never  been  his  wife  —  that  he  was 
already  married. 

Lydia  looked  at  the  neat,  blond,  spectacled  woman 
beside  her.  It  was  hard  to  imagine  her  murdering 
anyone.  She  seemed  gentle,  vague,  perhaps  a  little  de 
fective.  Later  in  their  acquaintance  she  told  Lydia 
how  she  had  done  it.  She  had  not  minded  his  perfidy 
so  much,  until  he  told  her  that  she  had  known  all 
along  they  weren't  married  —  that  she'd  done  it  with 
her  eyes  open  —  that  she  had  been  "out  for  a  good 
time."  He  was  a  paperhanger  among  other  things, 
and  a  great  pair  of  shears  had  been  lying  on  the  table. 
The  first  thing  she  knew  they  were  buried  in  his  side. 

Lydia  could  not  resist  asking  her  whether  she  re 
gretted  what  she  had  done. 

The  girl  considered.  "I  think  it  was  right  for  him 
to  die/'  she  said,  but  she  was  sorry  about  Joseph.  In 
a  little  while  the  baby  would  be  taken  from  her  and 
put  into  a  state  institution.  She  was  maternal  — 


216  MANSLAUGHTER 

primitively  maternal  —  and  her  real  punishment  was 
not  imprisonment  but  separation  from  her  child. 
Lydia  saw  this  without  entirely  understanding  it. 

The  girl  had  said  to  her:  "I  suppose  you  can't 
imagine  killing  anyone  ?" 

Lydia  assured  her  that  she  could — oh,  very  easily. 
She  went  back  to  her  room  thinking  that  she  was  more 
a  murderess  at  heart  than  this  girl,  who  was  now, 
nothing  but  a  mother. 

When  she  came  out  of  the  hospital  she  was  not  put 
back  at  the  schoolroom  work  but  was  sent  to  the 
kitchen.  This  was  an  immense  tiled  room  which 
gave  the  impression  to  those  who  first  entered  it  of 
being  entirely  empty.  Then  the  eye  fell  on  a  row  of 
copper  containers  —  three  of  them  as  tall  as  she — one 
for  tea,  one  for  coffee,  one  for  hot  water,  and  three 
smaller  pots,  round  like  witches'  caldrons,  for  the 
cooking  of  cereals  and  meats  and  potatoes.  The  bak 
ing  was  done  in  an  adjacent  alcove.  There  Lydia  was 
put  to  work.  Gradually  the  process  began  to  interest 
her  —  the  mixing  of  the  dough  and  the  baking  of 
dozens  of  loaves  at  a  time  in  a  great  oven  with  rotating 
shelves  in  it.  The  oven,  like  all  ovens,  had  its 
caprices,  dependent  upon  the  amount  of  heat  being 
used  by  the  rest  of  the  institution.  Lydia  set  herself 
to  master  the  subject.  A  certain  strain  of  practical 
competence  in  her  had  never  before  had  its  expres 
sion. 


CHAPTEK  XIV] 

AS  LYDIA  began  to  emerge  from  her  depres 
sion  she  clung  to  Evans,  who  had  first  made 
her  see  that  she  could  not  think  anything 
human  alien  to  herself.  The  disciplined  little  Eng 
lishwoman,  sincere  and  without  self-pity,  seemed  the 
purveyor  of  wisdom.  She  saw  her  own  mistakes 
Clearly.  William  —  William  was  the  pale  young  foot 
man,  about  whom  they  talked  a  good  deal  —  had  urged 
her  for  a  long  time  to  pick  up  a  ten-dollar  bill  now  and 
then  or  a  forgotten  bit  of  jewelry.  She  had  never  felt 
any  temptation  to  do  so  until  Lydia  had  been  so  in 
different  about  the  loss  of  the  bracelet.  What  was  the 
use  of  caring  so  much  about  the  safety  of  the  jewels 
if  the  owner  cared  so  little  ? 

"Oh,  that  bracelet!"  murmured  Lydia,  remember 
ing  how  she  had  last  seen  it  in  O'Bannon's  hand  in 
court.  For  a  moment  she  did  not  follow  what  Evans 
was  saying,  and  came  back  in  the  mi<?~  t  of  a  sentence. 

" and  made  me  see  that  because  you  were 

wrong  that  did  not  make  m.3  right.  Then  I  got  ready 
to  confess.  KW  made  me  see  that  the  real  harm  was 
done  and  over  when  I  took  a  thing  that  wasn't  mine, 
and  that  the  only  way  to  get  back  was  to  obey  the  law 

217 


218  MANSLAUGHTER 

and  go  to  prison  and  get  through  with  it  as  quick  as 
I  could.  I  owe  a  lot  to  him,  Lydia —  not  that  he 
preached  at  me,  but  his  eyes  looked  right  into  me.7' 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?"  Lydia  asked 
sharply. 

"Of  Mr.  O'Bannon,"  answered  Evans,  and  a  rev 
erent  tone  came  into  her  voice. 

This  was  too  much  for  Lydia.  She  broke  out, 
assuring  Evans  that  she  had  been  quite  right  to  take 
the  jewels.  She,  Lydia,  now  knew  what  a  thoughtless, 
inconsiderate  employer  she  had  always  been.  But  as 
for  "that  man,"  Evans  must  see  that  he  had  only 
tricked  her  into  confessing  in  order  to  save  himself 
trouble.  It  was  a  feather  in  his  cap  —  to  get  a  confes 
sion.  He  had  not  thought  about  saving  her  soul. 
Lydia  stamped  her  foot  in  the  old  way  but  without 
creating  any  impression  on  the  bewitched  girl,  who 
insisted  on  being  grateful  to  the  man  who  had  im 
prisoned  her. 

"Is  that  what  he  is  looking  for  from  me  ?"  thought 
Lydia. 

Long,  long  winter  nights  in  prison  are  excellent 
periods  for  thinking  out  a  revenge.  She  saw  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  revenge  herself  on  O'Bannon.  If  it 
were  Albee  it  would  be  simple  enough  —  she  would 
make  him  publicly  ridiculous.  To  wound  that  sensi 
tive  egotism  would  be  to  slay  the  inner  man.  If  it 
were  Bobby  —  poor  dear  Bobby  —  she  would  destroy 
his  self-confidence  and  starve  him  to  death  through  his 


MANSLAUGHTER  219 

own  belief  that  lie  was  worthless.  But  what  could  she 
(Jo  to  O'Bannon  but  kill  him —  or  make  him  love  her  ? 
Perhaps  threaten  to  kill  him.  She  tried  to  think  of 
him  on  his  knees,  pleading  for  his  life.  But  no,  she 
couldn't  give  the  vision  reality.  He  wouldn't  go  down 
on  his  knees ;  he  wouldn't  plead ;  he'd  stand  up  to  her 
in  defiance  and  she  would  be  forced  to  shoot  to  prove 
that  she  had  meant  what  she  said. 

She  had  been  in  prison  about  three  months  when: 
one  morning  word  came  to  the  kitchen  that  she  wag 
wanted  in  the  reception  room.  This  meant  a  visitor. 
It  was  not  Miss  Bennett's  day.  It  must  be  a  specially; 
privileged  visitor.  Her  guest  was  Albee. 

Prisoners  whose  conduct  was  good  enough  to  keep 
them  in  the  first  grade  were  allowed  to  see  visitors 
once  a  week.  Miss  Bennett  came  regularly,  and 
Eleanor  had  come  more  than  once.  Lydia  was  very 
eager  to  see  these  two,  but  was  not  eager  to  see  anyone 
else.  There  was  always  a  terrible  moment  of  shyness 
with  newcomers  —  an  awkward  ugly  moment.  She 
did  not  wish  to  see  anyone  who  did  not  love  her  in  a 
simple  human  way  that  swept  away  restraint. 

She  did  not  want  to  see  Albee,  and  she  was  equally 
sure  he  did  not  want  to  see  her  but  had  been  driven 
by  the  politician's  fear  of  leaving  behind  him  in  his 
course  onward  and  upward  any  smoldering  fires  of 
hatred  which  a  little  easy  kindness  might  quench.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  did  not  hate  Albee  —  nor  like  him. 
She  simply  recognized  him  as  a  useful  person  whom 


220  MANSLAUGHTEK 

all  her  life  she  would  go  on  using.  This  coming  inter- 
yiew  must  serve  to  attach  him  to  her,  so  that  if  in  the 
future  she  needed  a  powerful  politician  to  help  her 
destroy  O'Bannon  she  would  have  one  ready  to  her 
hand.  She  knew  exactly  and  instinctively  how  to 
manage  Albee  —  not  by  being  appealing  and  friendly. 
If  she  were  nice  to  him  he  would  go  away  feeling  that 
that  chapter  in  his  life  was  satisfactorily  closed.  But 
if  she  were  hostile,  if  she  made  him  uncomfortable,  he 
would  work  to  win  back  her  friendship.  Prisoner  as 
she  was,  she  would  be  his  master.  She  arranged  her 
self,  expression  and  spirit  alike,  to  meet  him  sternly. 

She  did  not  stop  to  consider  the  impression  she 
tnight  make  on  her  visitor  —  in  her  striped  dress  and 
her  prison  shoes.  It  was  never  Lydia's  habit  to  think 
first  of  the  impression  she  was  making. 

She  was  brought  to  the  matron's  room,  and  then 
crossing  the  hall  she  entered  the  bare  reception  room, 
with  its  chill,  white  mantelpiece,  the  fireplace  blocked 
by  a  sheet  of  metal,  its  empty  center  table  and  stiff 
straight-backed  chairs.  She  entered  without  any  an 
ticipation  of  what  was  in  store  for  her,  and  saw  a  tall 
figure  just  turning  from  the  window.  It  was  O'Ban- 
non.  She  had  just  a  blurred  vision  of  his  gray  eyes 
and  the  hollows  in  his  cheeks.  Then  her  wrists  and 
knees  seemed  to  melt,  her  heart  turned  over  within, 
her;  everything  grew  yellow,  green  and  black,  and 
she  fainted  —  falling  gently  full  length  at  the  feet  of 
the  district  attorney. 


MANSLAUGHTER  221 

When  she  came  to  she  was  in  her  own  cell.  She 
turned  her  head  slowly  to  right  and  left. 

"Where  is  that  man  ?"  she  said.  She  was  told  he) 
had  gone. 

Of  course  he  had  gone  —  gone  without  waiting  for 
her  recovery,  without  speaking  to  anyone  else.  There 
was  the  proof  that  he  was  vindictive ;  that  he  had  come 
to  humiliate  her,  to  feast  his  eyes  on  her  distress.  He 
had  hardly  dared  hope  that  she  would  faint  at  his 
feet.  There  was  real  cruelty  for  you,  she  thought  — 
to  ruin  a  woman's  life  and  then  to  come  and  enjoy  the 
spectacle.  What  a  story  for  him  to  go  home  with,  to 
remember  and  smile  over,  to  tell,  perhaps,  to  his 
mother  or  Eleanor ! 

"The  poor  girl !"  he  might  say  with  tones  of  false 
pity  in  his  voice.  "At  the  mere  sight  of  me  she 
fainted  dead  away  and  lay  at  my  feet  in  her  prison, 
dress,  her  hands  coarsened  by  hard  work " 

This  last  proof  of  her  utter  defenselessness  infuri 
ated  her.  She  was  justified  in  her  revenge,  whatever 
it  might  be.  The  thought  of  it  ran  through  all  her 
dreams  like  a  secret  romance. 

It  began  to  take  shape  in  her  mind  as  political  ruin. 
She  knew  from  Eleanor  that  he  had  ambitions.  He 
had  taken  the  district  attorneyship  with  the  intention 
of  making  it  lead  to  higher  political  office.  She  had 
fancies  of  defeating  him  in  a  campaign,  using  all  the 
tragedy  of  her  own  experience  to  rouse  the  emotions 
of  audiences.  Easier  to  destroy  him  within  his  own. 


222  MANSLAUGHTER 

party  by  Albee's  help  —  easier,  but  not  so  spectacular. 
He  might  not  know  who  had  done  it  unless  she  went 
to  him  and  explained.  Over  that  interview  her  mind 
often  lingered. 

As  her  ideas  of  retribution  took  shape  she  became 
happier  in  her  daily  life,  as  if  the  thought  of  O'Ban- 
non  sucked  up  all  the  poison  in  her  nature  and  left 
her  other  relations  sweeter. 

If  Lydia  had  but  known  it,  her  revenge  was  com 
plete  when  she  fell  at  his  feet.  The  months  she  had 
spent  in  prison  had  been  paradise  compared  to  the 
months  he  had  spent  at  large.  The  verdict  in  the  case 
had  hardly  been  rendered  before  he  had  begun  to  be 
tortured  by  doubts  as  to  his  own  motives.  It  was  no 
help  to  him  that  his  reason  offered  him  a  perfect  de 
fense.  The  girl  was  a  criminal  —  reckless,  irrespon 
sible  and  untruthful,  more  deserving  of  punishment 
than  most  of  the  defendants  who  came  into  court.  If 
there  were  any  personal  animus  in  his  prosecution 
there  was  an  excuse  for  it  in  the  fact  that  Albee  had 
certainly  come  to  him  with  the  intention  of  exerting 
dishonorable  pressure  in  her  behalf.  Everyone  he 
saw  —  his  mother,  Eleanor,  Foster,  Judge  Homan  — 
all  believed  that  he  had  followed  the  path  of  duty  in 
spite  of  many  shining  temptations  to  be  weakly  piti 
ful.  But  he  himself  knew  —  and  gradually  came  to 
admit  —  that  he  had  done  what  he  passionately 
desired  to  do.  Even  he  could  not  look  deeply  enough 
into  his  own  heart  to  understand  his  motives,  but  ho 


MANSLAUGHTER  223 

began  to  be  aware  of  a  secret  growing  remorse  poison 
ing  his  inner  life. 

The  thought  of  her  in  prison  was  never  out  of  his 
mind,  and  it  was  a  nightmare  prison  he  thought  of. 
In  the  first  warm  September  days  he  imagined  the 
leaden,  airless  heat  of  cells.  When  October  turned 
suddenly  cold  and  windy  he  remembered  how  she  was 
accustomed  to  playing  golf  on  the  windy  links  and 
how  he  had  once  seen  her  driving  from  a  tee  near  the 
roadside  with  her  skirts  wrapped  about  her  by  her 
vigorous  swing.  He  gave  up  playing  bridge  —  the 
memories  were  too  poignant.  And  after  Eleanor  had 
once  mentioned  that  Lydia  was  fond  of  dancing  he 
could  not  listen  to  a  strain  of  dance  music.  Christ 
mas  was  a  particularly  trying  time  to  him,  with  all  its 
assumption  of  rejoicing  —  a  prison  Christmas! 

During  the  holidays  he  was  in  New  York  for  a  few; 
days.  His  theory  was  that  lack  of  exercise  was  the 
reason  for  his  not  sleeping  better.  He  used  to  take 
long  walks  in  the  afternoon  and  evening  so  as  to  go  to 
bed  tired. 

One  afternoon  at  twilight  he  was  walking  round 
the  reservoir  in  the  Park  when  he  recognized  some 
thing  familiar  in  a  trim  little  figure  approaching 
him  —  something  that  changed  the  beat  of  his  heart. 
It  was  Miss  Bennett.  He  stopped  her,  uncertain  of 
his  reception. 

"Is  that  Mr.  O'Bannon?"  she  said,  staring  up  at 
him  in  the  dim  light. 


224:  MANSLAUGHTEK 

The  city  beyond  the  bare  trees  had  begun  to  turn 
into  a  sort  of  universal  lilac  mist,  punctuated  with 
yellow  dots  of  light.  It  was  too  dark  for  Miss  Ben 
nett  to  see  any  change  in  O'Bannon' s  appearance,  any 
thing  ravaged  and  worn,  anything  suggesting  an 
abnormal  strain.  Miss  Bennett,  though  kind  and 
gentle,  was  not  imaginative  about  turbulent,  irregular 
emotions,  such  as  she  herself  did  not  experience.  She 
was  not  on  the  lookout  for  danger  signals. 

She  did  not  feel  unfriendly  to  O'Bannon.  On  the 
Contrary  she  admired  him.  She  could,  as  she  said, 
Bee  his  side  of  it.  She  prided  herself  on  seeing  both 
sides  of  every  question.  She  greeted  him  cordially 
as  soon  as  she  was  sure  it  was  he.  He  turned  and 
walked  with  her.  They  had  the  reservoir  to  them 
selves. 

Miss  Bennett  thought  it  more  tactful  not  to  refer 
to  Lydia.  She  began  talking  about  the  beauty  of  the 
city.  Country  people  always  spoke  as  if  all  natural 
beauty  were  excluded  from  towns,  but  for  her 
part 

O'Bannon  suddenly  interrupted  her. 

"Have  you  seen  Miss  Thome  lately?"  he  said  in 
a  queer,  quick,  low  tone. 

When  Benny  felt  a  thing  she  could  always  express 
it.  This  was  fortunate  for  her  because  when  she  ex 
pressed  it  she  relieved  the  acuteness  of  her  own  feel 
ing.  She  very  naturally,  therefore,  sought  the  right 
phrase,  even  sometimes  one  of  an  almost  indecent 


MANSLAUGHTER  225 

poignancy,  because  the  more  poignantly  she  made  the 
other  person  feel  the  more  sure  she  could  be  of  her 
own  relief.  Then,  too,  she  was  not  sorry  that  O'Ban- 
non  should  understand  just  what  it  was  he  had  done 
—  his  duty,  perhaps,  but  he  might  as  well  know  the 
consequences. 

"Have  I  seen  her?"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  Mr. 
O'Bannon !"  There  was  a  pause  as  if  it  were  too  ter 
rible  to  go  on  with,  but  of  course  she  did  go  on.  "I 
eee  her  every  week.  She's  like  an  animal  in  a  trap. 
Perhaps  you  never  saw  one  —  in  a  trap,  I  mean. 
Lydia  had  a  gray  wolfhound  once,  and  in  the  woods  it 
strayed  away  and  got  caught  in  a  mink  trap.  It  was 
almost  dead  when  we  found  it,  but  so  patient  and 
hopeless.  She's  getting  to  be  like  that  —  each  week  a 
little  more  patient  than  the  week  before  —  she  who 
was  never  patient.  Oh,  Mr.  O'Bannon,  I  feel  some 
times  as  if  I  couldn't  bear  it  —  the  way  they've 
ground  it  out  of  her  in  a  few  months !  She  seems  like 
an  old  woman  in  a  lovely  young  woman's  body.  They 
haven't  spoiled  that  —  at  least  they  haven't  yet." 

She  wiped  her  eyes  with  a  filmy  handkerchief,  and 
her  step  became  brisker.  She  felt  better.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  had  got  rid  of  the  pathos  of  the  situation. 
O'Bannon,  she  saw,  had  taken  up  her  burden.  He 
walked  along  beside  her  silent  for  a  few  steps,  and 
then  suddenly  took  off  his  hat,  murmured  something 
about  being  late  for  an  engagement  and  left  her,  dis 
appearing  down  the  steep  slope  of  the  reservoir. 


226  MANSLAUGHTER 

He  wandered  restlessly  up  and  down  like  a  man 
in  physical  pain.  No  reality,  he  finally  decided, 
could  be  as  terrible  as  the  visions  which,  with  the  help 
of  Miss  Bennett,  his  imagination  kept  calling  before 
him.  That  night  he  took  the  train,  and  in  the  middle 
of  the  next  morning  arrived  at  the  prison  gates. 

There  was  no  difficulty  about  his  seeing  the  pris 
oner.  His  explanation  that  he  was  passing  by  on  his 
way  to  see  the  warden  about  one  of  the  men  prisoners 
was  not  required.  The  matron  agreed  readily  to  send 
for  Lydia.  It  seemed  to  him  a  long  time  before  she 
came.  He  stood  staring  out  of  the  window,  stray  sen 
tences  leaping  up  in  his  mind  —  "not  less  than  three 
nor  more  than  seven  years"  —  "an  animal  in  a 
trap"  —  "an  old  woman  in  a  lovely  young  woman's 
body."  He  heard  steps  approaching  and  his  pulses 
began  to  beat  thickly  and  heavily.  He  turned  round, 
and  as  he  did  so  she  fell  at  his  feet. 

The  matron  came  in,  running  at  the  sound  of  her 
fall.  O'Bannon  picked  her  up  limp  as  a  rag  doll  in 
his  arms  and  carried  her  back  to  her  cell.  Under  most 
circumstances  he  would  have  noticed  that  the  cell  was 
bright  and  large,  but  now  he  only  compared  it,  with  a 
pang  at  his  heart,  to  that  large,  luxurious,  deserted 
bedroom  of  Lydia's  in  which  he  had  once  interviewed 
Evans. 

The  matron  drove  him  away  before  Lydia  recov 
ered  consciousness.  He  waited  in  the  outer  room, 
heard  that  she  was  perfectly  well,  and  then  took  his 


MA1STSLAUGHTEK  227 

miserable  departure.  He  got  back  to  New  York  late 
that  night,  and  the  next  day;  he  resigned  his  position 
as  district  attorney. 

Eleanor  read  of  his  resignation  first  in  the  local 
paper,  and  came  to  his  mother  for  an  explanation ;  but 
Mrs.  O'Bannon  was  as  much  surprised  as  anyone. 
Without  acknowledging  it,  both  women  were  fright 
ened  at  the  prospect  of  O'Bannon's  attempting,  with 
out  backing,  to  build  up  a  law  practice  in  New  York. 
Both  dreaded  the  effect  upon  him  of  failure.  Both 
would  have  advised  against  his  resigning  his  position. 
Perhaps  for  this  very  reason  neither  had  been  con 
sulted. 

The  two  women  who  loved  him  parted  with 
specious  expressions  of  confidence.  Doubtless  Dan 
would  make  a  great  success  of  it,  they;  said.  He  was 
brilliant,  and  worked  so  hard. 


CHAPTER  XV, 

I"N  THE  spring  Lydia  was  transferred  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  long,  bright  workroom.  Here  the 
women  prisoners  hemmed  the  blankets  woven  in 
the  men's  prison.  Here  they  themselves  wove  the  rag 
rugs  for  the  floors,  made  up  the  house  linen  and  their 
own  clothes  —  Joseph's  too — not  only  their  prison 
clothes,  but  the  complete  outfit  with  which  each  pris 
oner  was  dismissed. 

Lydia  was  incredibly  awkward  with  the  needle.  It 
surprised  the  tall,  thin  assistant  in  charge  of  the  work 
room  that  anyone  who  had  had  what  she  described  as 
advantages  could  be  so  grossly  ignorant  of  the  art  of 
sewing.  Lydia  hardly  knew  on  which  finger  to  put 
her  thimble  and  tied  a  knot  in  her  thread  like  a  man 
tying  a  rope.  But  it  was  her  very  inability  that  first 
woke  her  interest,  her  will.  She  did  not  like  to  be 
stupider  than  anyone  else.  Suddenly  one  day  her  little 
jaw  set  and  she  decided  to  learn  how  to  sew.  From 
that  moment  she  began  to  adjust  herself  to  prison  life. 

Lydia  wondered,  considering  prisoners  in  the  first 
grade  are  allowed  to  receive  visits  from  their  families 
once  a  week,  and  from  others,  with  the  approval  of 
the  warden,  once  a  month,  at  the  small  number  of 

228 


MANSLAUGHTER  229 

visitors  who  came  to  the  prison.  Were  all  these 
women  cast  off  by  their  families?  Evans  explained 
the  matter  to  her,  and  Lydia  felt  ashamed  that  she  had 
needed  an  explanation. 

"It  takes  a  man  a  week's  salary  —  at  a  good  job, 
too  —  from  New  York  here  and  back." 

Lydia  did  what  was  rare  of  her  —  she  colored. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  ashamed,  not  so 
much  of  the  privileges  of  money  but  of  the  ease  with 
which  she  had  always  taken  them.  It  came  over  her 
that  this  was  one  of  the  objects  for  which  Mrs.  Gal  ton 
had  once  asked  a  subscription.  A  memory  rose  of  the 
way  in  which  in  old  days  she  used  to  dispose  of  her 
morning's  mail  when  it  came  in  on  her  flowered 
breakfast  tray.  Advertisements  and  financial  appeals 
from  unknown  sources  were  twisted  together  by  her 
vigorous  fingers  and  tossed  into  the  waste-paper 
basket.  Mrs.  Galton's  might  well  have  been  among 
these. 

She  was  horrified  on  looking  back  at  her  own  lack 
of  humanity.  She  might  have  guessed  without  going 
through  the  experience  that  prison  life  needed  some 
alleviation.  It  meant  a  great  deal  to  her  to  see  Benny" 
every  week.  Benny  stood  in  the  place  of  her  family. 
She  longed  to  hear  of  the  outside  world  and  her  old 
friends.  But  she  did  not  crave  these  visits  with  such 
passion  as  the  imprisoned  mothers  craved  a  sight  of 
their  children. 

Thought  leading  quickly  to  action  in  Lydia,  she 


230  MANSLAUGHTER 

arranged  through  Miss  Bennett,  allowing  it  to  be  sup 
posed  to  be  Miss  Bennett's  enterprise,  to  finance  the 
visits  of  families  to  the  prison.  Everyone  rejoiced, 
as  if  it  were  a  common  benefit,  over  the  visit  of 
Muriel's  mother  and  the  beautiful  auburn-haired 
daughter  of  the  middle-aged  real-estate  operator. 
Lydia  felt  as  if  she  had  been  outside  the  human  race 
all  her  life  and  had  just  been  initiated  into  it.  She 
said  something  like  this  to  Evans. 

"Oh,  Louisa,  rich  people  don't  know;  anything,  jdo 
they?" 

Evans  tried  to  console  her. 

"If  they  want  to  they  always  can." 

It  was  true,  Lydia  thought ;  she  had  not  wanted  to 
know.  She  had  not  wanted  anything  but  her  own 
way,  irrespective  of  anyone  else's.  That  was  being 
criminal  —  to  want  your  own  way  too  much.  That 
was  all  that  these  people  about  her  had  wanted  — 
these  forgers  and  defrauders  —  their  own  way,  their 
own  way.  Though  she  still  held  her  belief  that  the 
killing  of  Drummond  had  been  an  accident,  she  saw 
that  the  bribing  of  him  had  been  wrong  —  the  same 
streak  in  her,  the  same  determination  to  have  her  own 
way.  She  thought  of  her  father  and  all  their  early 
struggles,  and  how  when  she  had  believed  that  she 
was  triumphing  most  over  him  she  had  been  at  her 
worst. 

Her  poor  father !  It  was  from  him  she  had  inher 
ited  her  will,  but  he  had  learned  in  life,  as  she  was 


MANSLAUGHTER  231 

now  learning  in  prison,  that  the  strongest  will  is  the 
will  that  knows  how  to  bend. 

She  thought  a  great  deal  about  her  father.  He 
must  have  been  terribly  lonely  sometimes.  She  had 
never  given  him  anything  in  the  way  of  affection. 
She  had  not  really  loved  him,  and  yet  she  loved  him 
now.  Her  heart  ached  with  a  palpable  weight  of  re 
morse.  He  had  been  her  only  relation,  and  she  had 
done  nothing  but  fight  and  oppose  and  wound  him. 
[What  a  cruel,  stupid  creature  she  had  been  —  all  her 
life !  And  now  it  was  too  late.  Her  father  was  gone, 
so  long  ago  she  had  almost  forgotten  him  in  one 
aspect.  And  then  again  it  would  seem  as  if  he  must 
still  be  somewhere,  waiting  to  order  her  upstairs  as  ho 
had  when  she  was  a  child. 

Only  Benny  was  left  —  Benny  whom  she  had  so 
despised.  Yet  Benny  would  not  need  to  go  to  prison 
in  order  learn  to  respect  other  people's  rights.  Benny- 
had  been  born  knowing  just  what  everyone  else 
wanted  —  eager  to  get  all  men  their  hearts'  desire. 

Lydia  was  not  religious  by  temperament.  She  had 
now  none  of  the  joy  of  a  great  revelation.  But  she 
had  the  courage,  unsupported  by  any  sense  of  a  higher 
power,  to  look  at  herself  as  she  was.  She  saw  now; 
that  her  relation  to  life  had  always  been  ugly,  hostile, 
violent.  Everyone  who  had  ever  loved  her  had  been 
able  to  love  through  something  beautiful  in  their  own 
natures  —  in  spite  of  all  the  unloveliness  of  hers.  She 
thought  not  only  of  the  relations  she  had  missed,  like 


232  MANSLAUGHTER 

the  relation  to  her  father,  hut  of  friendships  she  had 
lost,  which  she  had  deliberately  hroken  in  the  hideous 
daily  struggle  to  get  her  own  way.  She  would  never 
now  renew  that  struggle.  She  had  come  in  contact 
with  something  stronger  than  herself,  of  which  the 
impersonal  power  of  the  law  was  only  a  visible  sym 
bol.  She  was  not  sure  whether  it  had  broken  her  or 
remade  her,  but  it  had  given  her  peace  —  happiness 
she  had  never  had  —  a  peace  which  she  believed  she 
could  preserve  even  when  she  went  out  of  the  shelter 
ing  routine  of  prison.  The  only  feature  of  life  which 
terrified  and  revolted  her  was  the  persisting  individu 
ality  of  Lydia  Thome.  If  there  were  only  a  charm- 
other  than  death  to  free  you  from  yourself!  Some 
times  she  felt  like  a  maniac  chained  to  a  mirror.  Yet 
she  knew  that  it  was  the  long  months  of  enforced  con 
templations  that  had  saved  her. 

On  Friday  evening  the  inmates  were  allowed  to 
dance  in  the  assembly  room  —  half  theater,  half 
chapel.  In  her  effort  to  escape  from  herself  Lydia 
went  once  to  watch,  and  came  again  and  again  with 
increasing  interest.  It  soon  began  to  be  rumored  that 
she  was  a  good  dancer  and  knew  new  steps.  The 
dances  became  dancing  classes.  Lydia,  except  for  her 
natural  impatience,  was  a  born  teacher,  clear  in 
her  explanations  and  willing  to  work  for  perfec 
tion. 

Evans,  who  had  taken  Lydia  to  so  many  balls  ir 
past  years,  smiled  to  see  her  laboring  or^r  the  steps  of 


MANSLAUGHTER  233 

some  heavy  grandmother  or  light-footed  —  and  per 
haps  light-fingered  —  mulatto  girl. 

An  evening  suddenly  came  back  to  her.  It  was  in 
New  York.  She  had  come  downstairs  about  eleven 
o'clock  with  Miss  Thome's  opera  cloak  and  fan. 
There  had  been  people  to  dinner,  but  they  had  all  gone 
except  Mr.  Dorset,  and  he  was  being  instructed  in 
some  new  intricacy  of  the  dance.  Miss  Bennett,  who 
belonged  to  a  generation  that  knew  something  about 
playing  the  piano,  was  making  music  for  them. 
Evans,  if  she  shut  her  eyes,  could  see  Lydia  as  she 
was  then,  in  a  short  blue  brocade,  trying  to  shove  her 
partner  into  the  correct  step  and  literally  shaking  him 
when  he  failed  to  catch  her  rhythm.  She  was  being 
far  more  patient  with  Muriel,  holding  her  pale  coffee- 
colored  hands  and  repeating,  "One-two,  one-two ;  one- 
two-three-four.  There,  Muriel,  you've  got  it!"  Her 
face  lit  up  with  pleasure  as  she  turned  to  Evans. 
"Isn't  she  quick  at  it,  Louisa  ?" 

Lydia's  second  spring  in  prison  was  well  advanced 
when  she  was  sent  for  by  the  matron.  Such  a  sum 
mons  was  an  event.  Lydia  racked  her  brain  to  think 
what  was  coming  —  for  good  or  evil.  The  matron's 
first  question  was  startling.  Did  she  know  anything 
about  baseball  ? 

Did  she  ?  Yes,  something.  Her  mind  went  back 
to  a  Fourth  of  July  house  party  she  had  been  to  where 
a  baseball  game  among  the  guests  was  a  yearly 
feature.  She  and  the  matron  discussed  the  possibili- 


f 

234:  MANSLAUGHTER 

ties  of  getting  up  two  nines  among  the  inmates.  She 
suggested  that  there  were  books  on  the  subject.  A 
book  would  be  provided.  She  felt  touched  and  flat 
tered  at  the  responsibility  put  upon  her,  humbly  eager 
to  succeed. 

The  whole  question  began  to  absorb  her.  She 
studied  it  in  the  evening  and  thought  about  it  during 
the  day,  considering  the  possibilities  of  her  material, 
the  relation  of  character  to  skill.  Grace,  a  forger,  was 
actually  a  better  pitcher,  but  the  woman  who  had 
killed  her  husband  had  infinitely  more  staying  power. 

All  through  that  second  summer  she  occupied  her 
self,  day  and  night,  with  the  team,  more  and  more  as 
September  drew  to  a  close.  For  she  knew  that  with 
the  approaching  expiration  of  her  minimum  sentence 
the  parole  board  would  consider  her  release.  Free 
dom  in  all  probability  was  near,  and  freedom  is  a 
disorganizing  thought  to  prisoners.  The  peace  she 
had  gained  in  prison  began  to  flowT  away  as  each  day 
brought  her  nearer  to  release.  She  began  to  dream 
that  she  was  already  free,  and  to  wake  dissatisfied, 
with  a  trace  of  the  same  restless  irritation  of  her  first 
weeks.  Could  it  be,  she  thought,  that  she  had  learned 
nothing  after  all  ?  Could  even  the  idea  of  returning 
to  the  old  life  change  her  back  into  the  old  detestable 
thing  ? 

Prison  authorities  have  learned  that  the  last  night 
in  prison,  is  more  trying  to  a  prisoner's  morale  than 
any  other,  except  perhaps  the  first.  Lydia  found  it 


MANSLAUGHTEK  235 

so  when  her  last  night  there  came.  She  knew  that  she 
was  to  be  set  free  early  in  the  morning.  Miss  Bennett 
would  be  there,  and  they  would  take  an  early  train  to 
New  York  together.  It  was  a  certainty,  she  kept  tell 
ing  herself,  a  certainty  on  which  she  could  rely,  and 
yet  she  spent  the  entire  night  in  an  agony  of  fear  and 
impatience.  She  would  have  been  calmer  if  she  had 
been  waiting  the  hour  of  a  prearranged  escape.  The 
darkness  of  night  continued  so  long  that  it  seemed  as 
if  some  unheralded  eclipse  had  done  away  with  sun 
rise,  and  when  ait  last  the  dawn  began  to  color  the 
window  the  hour  between  it  and  her  release  was 
nothing  but  a  fevered  anxiety. 

She  was  hardly  aware  of  Miss  Bennett  waiting  for 
her  in  the  matron's  room  —  hardly  aware  of  the  ma 
tron  herself,  imperturbable  as  ever,  bidding  her  good- 
by.  Only  the  clang  of  the  gate  behind  her  quieted 
her.  Only  from  outside  the  bars  did  she  want  to 
pause  and  look  back  at  the  prison  as  at  an  old 
friend. 

It  was  a  bright  autumn  morning.  The  wind  was 
chasing  immense  white  clouds  across  the  sky  and 
scattering  the  leaves  of  the  endless  row  of  trees  that 
stood  like  sentinels  along  the  high  wall. 

Miss  Bennett  wanted  to  hurry  across  the  street  at 
once  to  the  railroad  station,  although  their  train  would 
not  start  for  some  time ;  she  wanted  to  get  away  from 
the  menace  of  that  dark  wall  —  a  very  perfect  piece 
of  masonry.  But  Lydia  had  seen  it  too  long  from  the 


236  MANSLAUGHTER 

inside  not  to  be  eager  to  savor  a  view  of  it  from  with 
out.  She  stared  slowly  about  her  like  a  tourist  before 
some  spectacle  of  awesome  beauty.  She  looked  down 
the  alley  between  the  trees  and  the  wall  to  where  on 
her  left  was  the  sharp  clean  corner  of  the  stonework. 
She  looked  to  her  right,  where  as  the  wall  rose  higher 
she  could  see  the  little  watchtower  of  the  prison  guard. 
Then  she  turned  completely  round  and  looked  back 
through  the  bars  at  the  prison  itself. 

"Don't  you  think  it's  a  pretty  old  doorway  V  she 
said. 

Miss  Bennett  acknowledged  its  beauty  rather 
briefly. 

"Will  you  tell  me  why  it  has  'State  Asylum'  on  the 
horse  block  ?"  she  said. 

"That's  juat  what  it  is,"  said  Lydia  —  "an  asylum, 
a  real  asylum  to  some  of  us.  It  used  to  be  for  the 
insane,  Benny.  That's  why." 

On  the  all-day  journey  to  ISTew  York  Miss  Bennett 
had  counted  on  hearing  the  full  psychological  story  of 
the  last  two  years.  In  her  visits  to  the  prison  she  had 
found  that  Lydia  wanted  to  hear  of  the  outside 
world  —  not  to  talk  of  herself ;  but  now  that  she  was 
free  Miss  Bennett  hoped  this  might  be  changed.  She 
had  taken  a  compartment  so  they  could  be  by  them 
selves,  but  the  minute  the  door  was  shut  upon  them  a 
funny  change  came  over  Lydia.  She  grew  absent  and 
tense,  and  at  last  she  sprang  up  and  opened  it. 

"It's  pleasanter  open/'  she  said  haughtily,  and  then 


MANSLAUGHTER  237 

she  suddenly  laughed.  "Oh,  Benny,  to  be  able  to  open 
a  closed  door !" 

Miss  Bennett  began  to  cry  softly.  All  these  months 
she  had  been  trying  to  persuade  herself  that  the  change 
in  Lydia  was  due  to  prison  clothes;  but  now,  seeing 
her  dressed  as  she  used  to  dress,  the  change  was  still 
there.  She  was  thinner,  finer  —  shaped,  as  it  were, 
by  a  sharper  mold.  All  her  reactions  were  slower.  It 
took  her  longer  to  answer,  longer  to  smile.  This  gave 
her  —  what  Lydia  had  never  had  before  —  a  touch  of 
mystery,  as  if  her  real  life  were  going  on  somewhere 
else,  below  the  surface,  remote  from  companionship. 

She  wiped  her  eyes,  thinking  that  she  must  not  let 
Lydia  guess  she  thought  her  changed.  Their  eyes  met. 
Lydia  was  discovering  a  curious  fact,  which  she  in 
her  turn  thought  it  better  to  conceal.  It  was  this: 
That  the  figures  of  her  prison  life  had  a  depth  and 
reality  that  made  all  the  rest  of  the  world  seem  like 
shadows.  Even  while  she  questioned  Miss  Bennett 
about  her  friends  she  felt  as  if  she  were  asking  about 
characters  in  a  book  which  she  had  not  had  time  to 
finish.  Would  Bobby  be  sure  to  be  at  the  station  ? 
Was  Eleanor  coming  to  town  that  night  to  see  her  ? 
IWhere  was  Albee? 

Miss  Bennett  did  not  know  where  Albee  was,  and 
her  tone  indicated  that  she  did  not  greatly  care.  She 
did  not  intend  to  stir  Lydia  up  against  anyone  but 
she  could  not  help  wishing  Lydia  would  punish 
Albee.  He  had  not  been  really  loyal,  and  he  was  the 


238  MANSLAUGHTER 

only  one  of  the  intimate  circle  who  had  not  been.  A 
man  with  red  blood  in  his  veins,  Miss  Bennett 
thought,  would  have  married  Lydia  the  day  before  she 
went  to  prison  or  would  at  least  be  waiting,  hat  in 
hand,  the  day  she  came  out. 

Bobby,  gay  and  affectionate  as  ever,  met  them  at 
the  station  and  drove  with  them  to  the  town  house. 
Morson  opened  the  front  door  and  ran  down  the  steps 
with  a  blank  face  and  a  brisk  manner,  as  if  she  had 
been  returning  from  a  week-end;  but  as  she  stepped 
out  of  the  motor  he  attempted  a  sentence. 

"Glad  to  see  you  back,  miss,"  he  said,  and  then  his 
self -control  gave  way.  He  turned  aside  with  one  hand 
over  his  eyes  and  the  other  feeling  wildly  in  his  tail 
pocket  for  a  handkerchief. 

Lydia  began  to  cry  too.  She  put  her  hand  on  Mor- 
eon's  shoulder  and  said  "I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mor 
son.  You're  almost  the  oldest  friend  I  have  in  the 
world,"  and  she  added,  without  shame,  to  Miss  Ben 
nett,  "Isn't  it  awful  the  way  I  cry  at  anything  nowa 
days  ?" 

She  went  into  the  house,  blowing  her  nose. 

The  house  was  full  of  telegrams  and  flowers.  Lydia 
did  not  open  the  telegrams,  but  the  flowers  seemed  to 
give  her  pleasure.  She  went  about  breathing  in  long 
whiffs  of  them  and  touching  their  petals.  Morson,  in 
perfect  control  of  himself,  but  with  his  eyes  as  red  as 
fire,  came  to  ask  at  what  hour  she  would  dine. 

Lydia  had  a  great  deal  to  do  before  dinner.     She 


MANSLAUGHTER  239 

produced  a  Sirty  paper  from  her  pocketbook  and 
began  studying  it. 

"Is  there  anything  special  you'd  like  to  order?" 
said  Miss  Bennett. 

Lydia  did  not  look  up  but  answered  that  Morson 
remembered  what  she  liked,  which  drove  him  out  of 
the  room  again.  Her  telephoning,  it  appeared,  was  to 
the  families  and  friends  of  her  fellow  prisoners.  She 
was  very  conscientious  about  it,  and  very  patient, 
even  with  those  who,  unaccustomed  to  the  telephone 
or  unwilling  to  lose  touch  with  a  voice  so  recently 
come  from  their  loved  ones,  would  ask  the  same  ques 
tion  over  and  over  again. 

But  finally  it  was  over,  and  Lydia  free  to  bathe 
and  dress  and  finally  to  sit  down  in  her  own  dining 
room  to  a  wonderful  little  meal  that  was  the  symbol 
of  her  freedom.  Yet  all  she  could  think  of  was  the 
smell  of  the  freshly  baked  dinner  rolls  that  brought 
back  the  large,  low  kitchen  and  the  revolving  oven  — 
revolving  at  that  very,  moment,  perhaps  —  so  far 
away. 

"Oh,  my  dear/'  said  Miss  Bennett,  'I've  found  the 
nicest  little  maid  for  you  —  a  Swiss  girl  who  can 
sew  —  really  make  your  things  if  you  want  her  to, 
and " 

Lydia  felt  embarrassed.  She  turned  her  head  from 
side  to  side  as  Miss  Bennett  ran  on  describing  the  dis 
covery.  She  simply  could  never  have  a  maid  again. 
How  was  she  to  explain  ?  She  did  not  understand  it 


240  MANSLAUGHTEK 

thoroughly  herself,  only  she  knew  that  she  could 
never  again  demand  that  another  woman  —  as  young, 
perhaps,  and  as  fond  of  amusement  as  herself  — 
should  give  a  lifetime  to  taking  care  of  her  wardrohe. 
Personal  service  like  that  would  annoy  and  embarrass 
her  now.  The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  make  her  life 
less  complex  in  such  matters.  She  put  her  hand  over 
Miss  Bennett's  as  it  lay  on  the  table. 

"Shouldn't  you  think  she'd  wish  me  back  at  hard 
labor  ?"  she  said  to  Bobby.  "She  takes  such  a  lot  of 
trouble  for  me." 

Miss  Bennett,  emotionally  susceptible  to  praise, 
wiped  her  eyes,  and  presently  went  away,  leaving 
(Bobby  and  Lydia  alone.  She  wondered  if  perhaps 
that  would  be  the  best  thing  for  Lydia  to  do  —  to  re 
build  her  life  on  Bobby's  gay  but  unwavering  devo 
tion. 

Lydia,  leaning  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  her  chin 
on  her  hands,  listened  while  Bobby  gossiped  over  the 
empty  coffee  cups.  Did  Lydia  know  about  this 
[Western  coal  man  that  May  Swayne  was  going  to 
marry?  Bobby  set  him  before  her  in  an  instant  — 
"A  round-faced  man,  Lydia,  with  $30,000,000,  and 
such  a  vocabulary!  He  never  thinks;  he  presumes. 
He  doesn't  come  into  a  room ;  he  ventures  to  intrude. 
May  has  quite  a  lot  of  alterations  to  do  on  him." 

And  the  Piers  —  had  Lydia  heard  about  them? 
Fanny  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  prophet  of  a  new 
religion  and  had  made  all  her  arrangements  to  divorce 


MANSLAUGHTER  241 

JfcToel,  but  before  she  left  him,  as  a  proof  of  her  new 
powers,  she  thought  she'd  cure  him  of  drinking. 
Well,  my  dear,  she  did.  And  the  result  was  she  found 
she  liked  a  nonalcoholic  Noel  better  than  ever  —  and 
she  chucked  the  seer.  Can  you  beat  it  ? 

Shadows  —  they  did  seem  like  shadows  to  Lydia. 
Staring  before  her,  she  fell  into  meditation,  remem 
bering  Evans  and  the  pale  coffee-colored  Muriel  and 
the  matron  —  the  small,  placid-browed  matron  who 
knew  not  fear. 

Suddenly  she  came  back  to  realize  that  Bobby  was 
asking  her  to  marry  him. 

Most  of  their  acquaintances  believed  that  he  never 
did  anything  else ;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  put  it  into  words.  He  wasn't 
sure  it  was  a  tactful  thing  to  do  now.  She  might 
think  —  Bobby  was  always  terribly  &ware  of  what 
people  might  think  —  that  his  suggesting  such  a 
mediocre  future  for  her  was  to  admit  that  he  thought 
her  beaten.  Whereas  to  him  she  was  as  triumphant 
and  desirable  as  ever.  On  the  other  hand,  it  might  be 
just  the  right  thing  to  do.  With  men  like  Albee  get 
ting  to  cover  and  some  people  bound  to  be  hateful,  she 
could  say  to  herself,  "Well,  I  can  always  marry  Bobby 
and  go  to  live  in  Italy." 

He  put  it  to  her. 

"Lydia,  wouldn't  you  consider  marrying  me  to 
morrow  and  sailing  for  Greece  or  Sicily  or  Grenada 
• — that's  a  heavenly  place.  I  should  be  so  wildly 


242  MANSLAUGHTER 

happy,  dear,  that  I  think  you'd  be  pleased  in  a  mild 
sort  of  way,  too." 

Go  away  ?    It  was  the  last  thing  she  wanted  to  do. 

"No,  no !"  she  said  quickly.    "I  must  stay  here !" 

"Well,  marry  me  and  stay  here." 

She  shook  her  head,  trying  to  explain  to  him  — 
she  wouldn't  ever  marry.  She  had  found  a  new  clew, 
to  life  and  wanted  to  follow  it  alone.  She  had  inter 
est,  intense,  vital  interest,  to  give  to  life  and  affairs  — 
yes,  and  even  people ;  but  she  had  not  love.  Human, 
relationships  couldn't  make  or  mar  life  for  her  any 
more.  She  wanted  to  work  —  nothing  else. 

She  paused,  and  in  the  pause  the  dining-room  door 
opened  and  Eleanor  came  in.  Eleanor  had  been  up 
at  dawn  to  get  a  train  from  the  Adirondacks  in  time 
to  meet  Lydia  at  the  station,  and  of  course  the  train 
had  been  late.  Would  Lydia  put  her  up  for  the  night  ? 

Lydia's  cry  of  welcome  did  not  sound  like  a  per 
son  to  whom  all  human  relationships  had  become  in- 
idifferent.  Indeed  Eleanor  was  the  person  she  wanted 
most  to  see.  Eleanor  was  not  emotional,  or  rather 
she  expressed  her  emotion  by  a  heightened  intellectual 
sensitiveness.  She  wouldn't  cry,  she  wouldn't  regard 
Lydia  as  a  shorn  lamb  the  way  Miss  Bennett  did,  nor 
yet  would  she  assume  that  she  was  utterly  unchanged, 
as  all  the  rest  of  her  friends  might.  Eleanor's  man 
ner  was  almost  commonplace.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
fairer  to  say  that  she  left  the  introduction  of  anything 
'dramatic  to  Lydia's  choice. 


MANSLAUGHTER  248] 

Bobby  soon  went  away  and  left  the  two  women  to 
gether.  They  went  upstairs  to  Lydia's  bedroom,  and 
in  their  dressing  gowns,  with  chairs  drawn  to  the  fire, 
they  talked.  They  talked  with  long  pauses  between! 
them.  ISTo  one  but  Eleanor  would  have  allowed  those 
long  silences  to  pass  uninterrupted,  but  she  was  wise 
enough  to  know  they  were  the  very  essence  of  com 
panionship. 

Though  Eleanor  asked  several  questions  about  the 
details  of  prison  life,  she  was  too  wise  to  ask  any 
thing  about  the  fundamental  change  which  she  felt 
had  taken  place  in  Lydia.  She  did  not  betray  that  she 
felt  there  was  a  change.  She  wondered  whether  Lydia 
knew  it  herself.  It  was  hard  to  say,  for  the  girl, 
always  inexpert  with  verbal  expressions,  had  become 
more  so  in  the  two  years  of  solitude  and  contempla 
tion.  Whatever  spontaneity  of  speech  she  had  had 
;was  gone.  She  was,  Eleanor  thought,  like  a  person 
using  an  unfamiliar  tongue,  aware  of  the  difficulty- 
bf  putting  thought  into  words. 

She  could  not  help  being  touched  —  ,and  a  little 
amused  —  at  the*seriousness  with  which  Lydia  men 
tioned  her  late  companions;  Lydia,  who  had  always 
been  so  selective  about  her  own  friends  and  so  scorn 
ful  about  everybody  else's.  She  spoke  of  Evans,  the 
pallid  little  thief,  as  if  light  had  flowed  from  her  as 
from  an  incarnation  of  the  Buddha.  Seeing  that 
Lydia  had  caught  some  reflection  of  the  thought, 
Eleanor  thought  it  better  to  put  it  into  words. 


244  MANSLAUGHTER 

"Now,  don't  tell  me,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "that  you, 
too,  have  discovered  that  all  criminals  are  pure  whit© 
feouls." 

"Just  the  opposite.  All  pure  white  souls  are  crimi 
nals  —  all  of  us  are  criminals  at  heart.  The  only  way 
not  to  be  is  to  recognize  the  fact  that  you  are.  It's  a 
terrible  idea  at  first  —  at  least  it  was  to  me.  It  was 
like  going  through  death  and  coming  out  alive." 
Lydia  paused,  staring  before  her,  and  anyone  in  the 
ivvorld  except  Eleanor  would  have  thought  she  had  fin 
ished;  but  Eleanor's  fine  ear  caught  the  beat  of  an 
approaching  idea.  "But  it's  such  a  comfort,  Nell,  to 
belong  to  the  tribe  —  such  a  relief.  And  I  should 
never  have  had  it  if  it  had  not  been"  —  she  hesitated, 
and  Eleanor's  heart  contracted  with  a  sudden  fear  that 
the  name  of  O'Bannon  was  about  to  enter  —  "if  it  had 
not  been  for  my  accident." 

Eleanor  was  not  sure  that  Lydia  had  deliberately; 
avoided  the  name.  What,  she  wondered,  was  left  of 
that  unjust  and  bitter  hatred  ?  She  could  not  detect  a 
trace  of  bitterness  anywhere  in  Lydia's  nature  to 
night.  But  then  she  had  always  had  those  moments  of 
gentleness. 

Presently  Miss  Bennett  came  in  to  say  in  her  old, 
timid,  suggestive  manner  that  it  was  late  —  she  hated 
to  interrupt  them,  but  she  really  did  think  that  Lydia 
ought  to  go  to  bed.  Lydia  got  up  at  once. 

"I  suppose  I  ought,"  she  s-aid.  "It's  been  an  excit 
ing  day  for  me." 


MANSLAUGHTEK  24$ 

Eleanor  noted  that  such  a  suggestion  from  Miss 
Bennett  in  old  days  would  have  meant  that  Ljdia 
would  have  felt  it  her  duty  to  stay  up  another  hour. 

"I  have  to,  my  dear,"  she  would  have  said,  "or  else 
Benny  would  be  trying  to  coerce  me  in  every  detail  of 
my  life." 


CHAPTEK  XVI 

V  m  ^HE  next  morning  at  the  regular  prison  Lour 
•  Lydia  woke  with  a  start.  She  had  been 
aware  for  some  time  of  a  strange  unaccount 
able  roaring  in  her  ears.  She  looked  about  her,  sur 
prised  to  see  that  the  light  of  dawn  was  not  falling 
through  a  tall  barred  aperture  at  the  head  of  her  bed, 
but  was  coming  across  a  wide  carpeted  room  from  two 
chintz-curtained  windows.  Then  she  remembered  she« 
was  at  home;  the  roaring  was  the  habitual  sound  of 
a  great  city ;  the  room  was  the  room  she  had  had  since 
she  was  a  child.  It  seemed  less  familiar  to  her,  less 
homelike,  than  her  cell.  She  put  out  her  hand  to  the 
satin  coverlet  and  the  sheets,  softer  than  satin.  The 
physical  sensation  of  the  contact  was  delicious,  and 
yet  there  was  something  sad  about  it  too.  It  was  the 
thought  of  her  late  companions  that  made  her  sad, 
as  if  she  had  deserted  them  in  trouble. 

It  would  be  two  hours  or  more  before  Eleanor  and 
Benny  would  be  awake.  She  flung  her  arms  above  her 
head  and  lay  back,  thinking.  She  mustn't  let  them 
cherish  her  as  if  she  were  a  wounded,  stricken  crea 
ture.  She  was  more  to  be  envied  now  than  in  the  old 

246 


MALTSLAUGHTEE  247 

fighting  days,  when  all  her  inner  life  had  been  a  sort 
of  poisoned  turmoil.  No  one  had  pitied  her  then. 

Her  plan  had  been  not  to  be  too  hasty  in  arranging 
her  new  life,  which  she  knew  must  include  work  — 
work  in  connection  with  prisoners.  But  now  she  saw 
she  mustn't  waste  a  minute.  She  must  have  work  at 
once  to  take  her  away  from  herself.  She  could  hardly 
face  the  coming  day  —  everyone  considering  her  and 
that  detestable  ego  of  hers,  asking  her  what  she  wanted 
to  do.  She  must  have  a  routine  immediately.  She 
was  not  strong  enough  yet  to  live  without  one.  Only 
one  thing  must  take  precedence  of  everything  else  — 
a  pardon  for  Evans.  She  could  not  bear  to  remain 
at  liberty  with  Evans  still  serving  a  sentence.  With 
that  accomplished,  she  could  go  forward  in  peace.  In 
peace  ?  As  >she  thought  of  it  she  knew  that  there  was 
one  corner  of  her  mind  where  there  was  not  and  never 
would  be  peace.  Only  last  evening,  in  the  first  hap 
piness  of  being  at  home,  the  mention  of  O'Bannon's 
name  had  threatened  to  destroy  it. 

And  now  he  was  in  her  mind,  holding  it  without 
rivals.  The  moment  had  come  when  her  hatred  of 
him  could  find  expression.  It  needn't  be  a  secret 
dream,  like  a  child's  fairy  story.  She  needn't  sup 
press  it  —  she  could  act.  If  she  had  not  been  such  ai 
coward  last  evening  she  would  have  named  him  and 
gone  boldly  on  and  found  out  from  Eleanor  where  he 
was,  what  he  was  doing,  what  was  his  heart's  desire. 
Perhaps  if  she  had  put  her  questions  frankly  Eleanor 


. 
248  MANSLAUGHTEK 

would  not  have  told  her ;  "but  it  would  not  be  difficult 
to  deceive  so  doting  a  friend  of  his.  Eleanor  could 
easily  be  persuaded  that  his  victim  had  been  so  tamed 
and  crushed  in  prison  that  she  had  come  to  admire 
him,  to  look  differently  on  the  world. 

Suddenly  Lydia  sat  straight  up  in  her  bed.  And 
hadn't  she  changed?  In  the  old  days  she  had  never 
felt  with  more  bitter  violence  than  she  was  feeling 
now.  The  excitement  of  her  revenge  had  wiped  out 
every  other  interest.  The  flame  of  her  hatred  had  de 
stroyed  the  whole  structure  of  her  new  philosophy. 
She  sat  up  in  her  bed  and  wrung  her  hands.  What 
could  she  do?  What  could  she  do?  The  mers 
thought  of  that  man  changed  her  back  into  being  the 
woman  she  hated  to  be.  She  would  rather  die  than 
live  as  her  old  self,  but  how  could  she  help  thinking 
of  him  when  the  idea  of  injuring  him  was  more  vivid, 
more  exciting,  than  any  other  idea  in  the  world  ?  She 
had  come  out  of  prison  resolved  that  her  first  action 
would  be  to  get  a  pardon  for  Evans,  and  here  she  was 
forgetting  her  obligations  and  her  remorse,  forgetting 
everything  but  a  desire  to  wound  and  destroy.  He 
had  the  power  to  make  her  what  she  loathed  to  be. 

Her  room  was  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  the  sun, 
finding  some  chink  between  the  houses  behind  the 
Thome  house,  crept  in  under  the  shades  and  began 
moving  slowly  across  the  plain,  dark,  velvet  carpet. 
It  had  time  to  move  some  distance  while  she  sat  there 
immovable,  unaware  of  her  surroundings. 


MANSLAUGHTER  249 

Gradually  slie  came  to  see  that  she  must  choose  be 
tween  the  two.  Either  she  must  give  up  forever  the 
idea  of  revenging  herself  on  O'Bannon  or  she  must 
give  up  all  the  peace  and  wisdom  that  she  had  so  pain 
fully  learned  —  she  had  almost  lost  it  already,  ancl 
ehe  had  not  been  twenty-four  hours  out  of  prison. 

An  hour  later  Eleanor  was  wakened  by  the  opening 
of  her  door.  Lydia  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  her 
bed,  grasping  the  edge  of  it  in  her  two  white  hands. 
It  was  Eleanor's  first  good  look  at  her  in  the  light  of 
clay.  She  was  startled  by  Lydia's  beauty  —  a  kind 
of  beauty  she  had  never  had  before.  ~No  one  could 
now  have  likened  her  to  a  picture  by  Cabanel  of  tha 
Star  of  the  Harem.  Everything  sleek  and  hard  and 
smooth  had  gone.  She  looked  more  like  the  picture 
of  some  ravaged,  pale  Spanish  saint,  still  so  young 
that  the  inner  struggle  had  molded  without  lining 
her  face.  She  stood  staring  at  Eleanor,  her  dark  hair, 
standing  out  about  her  face,  and  her  pale  dressing 
gown  defining  the  beautiful  line  of  her  shoulders,  as 
she  raised  them,  pressing  her  hands  down  on  the  foot 
of  the  bed. 

"Well,  my  dear,  good  morning,"  was  Eleanor's 
greeting,  though  she  was  not  unaware  that  something 
emotional  was  in  the  air. 

"Eleanor,"  began  the  other,  her  enormous  tragic 
eyes  fixed  now,  not  on  her  friend's,  but  on  a  spot  on 
the  pillow  about  five  inches  away,  "there  is  something 
I  want  to  say  to  you."  The  best  agreement  was 


250  MANSLAUGHTER 

silence,  and  Ljdia  went  on,  "I  want  you  never  to 
talk  to  me  about  that  man  —  your  friend  —  I  mean 
O'Bannon." 

"Talk  of  him!"  exclaimed  Eleanor,  her  first 
thought  being,  "Am  I  always  talking  of  him  ?" 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  of  him  or  think  of  him  or 
speak  of  him." 

This  time  Eleanor's  hesitation  was  not  entirely  ac 
quiescent. 

"I  can  understand,"  she  said,  "that  you  might  not 

want  to  see  him,  but  to  speak  of  him I  have 

been  thinking,  Lydia,  that  that  is  one  of  the  subjects 
that  you  and  I  ought  to  talk  over  —  to  talk  out." 

"No,  no!"  returned  Lydia  quickly,  and  Eleanor 
saw  with  surprise  that  it  was  only  by  leaning  on  her 
hands  that  she  kept  them  from  trembling.  "I  can't 
explain  it  to  you  —  I  don't  want  to  go  into  it  —  but 
I  don't  want  to  remember  that  he  exists.  If  you 
would  just  accept  it  as  a  fact,  ,and  tell  other  people  — 
Benny  and  Bobby.  If  you  would  do  that  for  me, 
Eleanor " 

"Of  course  I'll  do  it,"  answered  Eleanor.  There 
really  was  not  anything  else  to  say.  The  next  instant 
Lydia  was  gone. 

Eleanor  lay  quite  still,  trying  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  the  scene.  She  was  often  accused  by  her 
friends  of  coldness,  of  lack  of  human  imagination,  of 
attempting  to  substitute  mental  for  emotional  proc 
esses.  Aware  of  a  certain  amount  of  justice  in  these 


MANSLAUGHTEK  251 

accusations,  she  tried  to  atone  by  putting  her  reason 
ing  faculty  most  patiently  and  gently  at  work  upon 
the  problems  of  those  she  loved.  Her  nature  was  not 
Capable  of  really  understanding  turgidity,  but  she  did 
better  than  most  people  inasmuch  as  she  avoided  form 
ing  wrong  judgments  about  it.  She  felt  about  Lydia 
now  as  she  had  once  felt  when  O'Bannon  had  de 
scribed  to  her  his  struggle  against  drinking  —  wonder 
that  a  person  so  much  braver  and  stronger  than  she, 
Eleanor,  was  could  be  content  to  avoid  temptation  in 
stead  of  fighting  it. 

At  breakfast,  which'  the  three  women  had  together, 
Eleanor  saw  that  Lydia  had  regained  her  calm  of  the 
evening  before.  While  they  were  still  at  table  Wiley  ' 
was  shown  in.  He  felt  obviously  a  certain  constraint, 
an  embarrasment  to  know  what  to  say,  which  he  con 
cealed  under  a  formal  professional  manner.  Lydia 
put  a  stop  to  this  simply  enough  by  getting  up  and 
putting  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"I've  thought  so  much  of  all  you've  been  doing  for 
me  since  I  was  a  child,"  she  said. 

He  was  associated  in  her  mind  with  her  father. 
Wiley  felt  his  eyelids  stinging. 

"Why,  my  dear  child,  my  dear  child!"  he  said. 
[And  he  held  her  off  to  look  at  her  as  if  uncertain  that 
it  was  the  same  girl.  "Well,  I  must  say  prison  doesn't 
seem  to  have  done  you  much  harm." 

"It's  done  me  good,  I  hope,"  said  Lydia. 

She  made  him  sit  down  and  drink  an  extra  cup  of 


252  MA2STSLAUGHTEE 

coffee.  There  was  something  quite  like  a  festival  in 
the  comradeship  that  developed  among  the  four  of 
them.  She  began  to  question  her  visitor  about  the 
method  of  getting  a  pardon  for  Evans.  He  advised 
her  to  go  and  see  Mrs.  Galton.  At  the  name  she  and 
Benny  glanced  at  each  other  and  smiled.  They  were 
both  thinking  of  the  day  when  Lydia  had  so  resented 
the  presence  of  the  old  lady  in  her  house. 

She  went  to  Mrs.  Galton's  office  that  same  morning. 
It  occupied  the  second  floor  of  an  old  building  that 
looked  out  over  .Union  Square.  Lydia  had  not 
thought  of  making  an  appointment,  and  when  she 
reached  the  outer  office  she  was  told  that  Mrs.  Galton 
was  engaged.  —  would  be  engaged  for  some  time  — 
a  member  of  the  parole  board  was  in  conference. 
.Would  Miss  Thome  wait? 

Yes,  Lydia  would  wait.  She  sat  down  on  a  hard 
bench  and  watched  the  work  of  the  society  go  on 
before  her  eyes.  She  had  some  knowledge  of  business 
and  finance,  and  she  knew  very  soon  that  she  was  in 
the  presence  of  an  efficient  organization ;  but  it  was  not 
only  the  efficiency  that  charmed  her  —  it  was  partly 
the  mere  business  routine,  which  made  her  feel  like 
coming  home  after  she  had  been  at  sea.  The  clear 
impersonal  purpose  of  it  all  promised  forgetfulness 
of  self.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  of  waiting  she 
was  possessed  with  the  desire  to  become  part  of  this 
work.  Here  was  the  solution  of  her  problem.  When 
at  last  she  was  shown  into  Mrs.  Galton's  bleak  little 


MANSLAUGHTER  258 

Office  —  not  lialf  the  size  of  Lydia's  cell  —  her  first 
words  were  not  of  Evans,  after  all. 

"Mrs.  Gal  ton,"  she  said,  "can  you  use  mo  in  this 
organization  ?" 

[Without  intending  the  smallest  disrespect  to  Mrs. 
Galton,  it  must  be  admitted  that  this  question  was  liko 
asking  a  lion  if  it  could  use  a  lamh.  The  organiza 
tion,  like  all  others  of  its  type,  needed  devotion, 
needed  workers,  needed  money,  and  was  not  averse 
to  a  little  discreet  publicity.  All  these  Lydia  offered. 
Mrs.  Galton  smiled. 

"Yes,"  she  said.     The  monosyllable  was  expressive. 

The  older  woman,  with  forty  years  of  executive 
work  behind  her,  divided  all  workers  roughly  into 
two  classes :  The  amiable  idealists  who  created  no  an 
tagonism  and  accomplished  nothing,  and  the  effective 
workers  who  accomplished  marvels  and  stirred  up 
endless  quarrels.  She  —  except  in  her  very  weakest 
moments  —  preferred  the  latter,  though  they  dis 
rupted  her  office  force  and  gave  her  nervous  indiges 
tion.  She  recognized  Lydia  as  belonging  to  this  class. 

And  presently,  being  a  wise  and  experienced 
yoman,  she  recognized  another  fact:  That  she  was 
probably  in  the  presence  of  her  successor.  A  pang 
ehot  through  her.  She  was  seventy  and  keener  than 
(ever  about  the  work  to  which  she  had  given  all  her 
life.  If  she  kept  this  girl  out  she  would  hold  office 
longer  than  if  she  let  her  in.  If  she  let  her  in  it 
would  vivify  the  whole  organization.  She  might  be- 


254  MANSLAUGHTER 

jcome  the  ideal  leader;  at  least  she  could  be  made  so 
—  youth,  beauty,  money,  experience  of  prison  condi 
tions  and  the  romance  of  her  story  to  capture  public 
imagination. 

Lydia,  with  her  acute  sense  of  her  own  unworthi- 
ness,  was  dimly  aware  of  some  hesitation,  and  sup 
posed  that  she  was  being  weighed  in  the  balance.  She 
had  no  suspicion  that  a  struggle,  somewhat  like  her 
own  struggle,  was  going  on  in  the  honest,  philan 
thropic  breast  before  her.  A  few  minutes  afterwards 
[Mrs.  Galton  offered  her  the  treasurership.  Lydia 
was  overcome  by  the  honor. 

"But  I  thought  you  had  a  treasurer  already,"  she 
murmured.  "If  I  coul(J  be  her  assistant " 

"Oh,  no  doubt  she  will  be  glad  to  resign,"  said  the 
president  with  a  calmness  that  suggested  that  glad  or 
not  the  resignation  would  be  forthcoming. 

The  two  women  went  out  to  lunch  together.  More 
and  more,  as  they  talked,  Lydia  saw  that  this  was 
just  what  she  wanted.  This  would  be  her  salvation. 
After  they  were  back  in  the  office  again  she  spoke  of 
Evans.  kWhat  could  she  do  ?  jWhat  must  be  done  ? 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Mrs.  Galton.  "You  were  the 
complaining  witness  against  her,  I  suppose.  iWell, 
y^ou  must  see  the  judge  and  the  district  attorney  who 
tried  the  case." 

Lydia  gave  a  funny  little  sound,  half  exclamation, 
half  moan. 

"O'Bannon!"  she  said 


MANSLAUGHTEB  255 

No,  Mrs.  Galton  thought  that  wasn't  the  name  of 
the  district  attorney  of  Princess  County.  She  rang 
her  bell  and  told  her  secretary  to  look  it  up,  while  she 
;went  on  calmly  discussing  the  details  of  the  procedure. 
Presently  the  secretary  returnd  with  a  book.  John  J. 
Eillyer  was  district  attorney. 

"Are  you  sure?"  Lydia  asked.  "I  thought  Mr. 
O'Bannon  was." 

The  secretary  said,  consulting  her  book,  that  he 
had  resigned  almost  two  years  before. 

"But  we'd  have  to  have  his  signature,  wouldn't 
we?"  said  Mrs.  Galton. 

She  and  the  secretary  talked  of  it,  back  and  forth, 
not  knowing  that  they  were  setting  an  impossibe  con 
dition  for  Lydia.  She  couldn't  ask  O'Bannon.  'All 
her  interest  in  the  prospect  of  this  new  work  had 
withered  at  the  name.:  She  felt  a  profound  Dis 
couragement.  It  was  terrible  to  find  she  would 
rather  leave  Evans  in  prison  than  ask  O'Bannon  to 
help  get  her  out ;  terrible  to  find  that  man  like  a  bar 
rier  across  every  path  she  tried  to  follow  in  order  to 
escape  from  him.  She  thanked  them  for  the  trouble 
they  had  taken  and  rose  to  go.  It  was  arranged  that 
she  was  to  come  and  begin  work  on  the  following  Mon 
day. 

It  was  almost  tea  time  when  she  reached  home. 
Bobby  was  there,  and  the  Piers,  an'4  presently  May 
Swayne  came  in  with  her  coal  baron.  Lydia's  first 
temotion  on  seeing  them  was  a  warm,  welcoming  glad- 


256  MANSLAUGHTER 

ness,  but  she  soon  found  to  her  surprise  that  she  had 
yery  little  to  say  to  them. 

The  truth  was  that  she  had  lost  the  trick  of  meet 
ing  her  fellow  beings  in  a  purely  social  relation,  and 
the  conscious  effort  to  adapt  herself,  her  words,  her 
attention  to  them  exhausted  her.  She  looked  back 
with  wonder  to  the  old  days,  when  she  had  done  noth 
ing  else  all  day  long. 

Miss  Bennett  soon  began  to  notice  that  she  was  look 
ing  like  a  little  piece  of  carved  ivory,  with  eyes  of 
the  blackest  jet.  When  at  last  her  visitors  had  all 
gone  she  went  straight  to  bed. 

The  next  day  she  had  herself  driven  down  to  Wide 
Plains,  so  that  she  could  see  Judge  Homans.  Court 
was  still  in  session  when  she  got  there,  and  she  was 
shown  to  the  judge's  little  book-lined  room  and  left 
to  wait.  She  had  expected  her  first  view  of  the  wide 
main  street,  of  Mr.  Wooley's  shop,  of  the  columned 
courthouse  to  be  intensely  painful  to  her,  but  it 
wasn't.  The  tall  attendant  who  ushered  her  in 
greeted  her  warmly.  She  remembered  him  clearly 
leaning  against  the  double  doors  of  the  court  room 
to  prevent  anyone  leaving  during  the  judge's 
charge. 

Presently  the  judge  came  in,  just  as  he  had  come 
in  every  day  to  her  trial,  his  hands  folded,  his  robes 
flowing  about  him.  Lydia  rose.  Her  name  appar 
ently  had  not  been  given  to  him,  for  he  looked  at  her 
in  surprise.  Then  his  face  lit  up. 


MANSLAUGHTER  257 

"My  dear  Miss  Thorne,"  lie  said,  "when  did  you 
get  out?" 

It  was  the  first  perfectly  natural,  spontaneous  refer 
ence  to  her  imprisonment  that  she  had  heard  since 
she  left  prison.  It  did  away  with  all  constraint  and 
awkwardness,  to  be  taken  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Criminals  were  no  novelty  in  the  judge's  life.  He 
sat  down,  waved  her  into  a  chair  opposite,  put  his 
elbows  on  the  arms  of  his  swinging  chair  and  locked 
his  knuckles  together. 

"I'm  very  glad  to  see  you  —  very  glad  indeed,"  he 
said. 

But  he  wasn't  at  all  surprised  that  she  had  come. 
It  was  not  unusual,  evidently,  for  the  first  visit  of  a 
released  convict  to  be  paid  to  the  judge.  He  began  to 
question  her  rather  as  if  she  were  a  child  home  for 
the  holidays. 

"And  what  did  you  learn  ?  Baking  ?  !N"ow  that's 
interesting,  isn't  it  ?  And  sewing  ?  Well,  well !" 

He  treated  her  so  simply  that  Lydia  found  herself 
speaking  to  him  with  more  freedom  about  the  whole 
experience  of  prison  than  she  had  been  able  to  speak 
to  anyone.  The  reason  was,  she  thought,  that  she  did 
not  need  to  explain  to  him  that  she  was  not  a  tragic 
exception,  a  special  case.  To  him  she  was  just  one 
of  a  long  series  of  lawbreakers. 

They  talked  for  an  hour.  She  noted  that  the  judge 
still  enjoyed  talking,  still  insisted  on  rounding  out 
his  sentences ;  but  she  felt  now  no  impatience.  His 


-"258  MASrSLATJGHTEK 

reminiscences  interested  her.  Before  long  she  found 
herself  consulting  him  about  a  subject  that  had  long 
preyed  on  her  mind  —  Alma  Wooley.  She  wanted 
to  do  something  for  Alma  Wooley,  yet  she  supposed 
the  girl  would  utterly  reject  anything  coming  from 
the  woman  who  had 

The  judge  put  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

""Now  don't  you  worry  a  mite  about  Alma,"  he 
said.  "Alma  married  a  nice  young  fellow  out  of  the 
district  attorney's  office  —  named  Foster  —  and  now; 
they  have  a  baby,  a  nice  little  baby.  I  was  saying  to 
her  father  only  yesterday  that  Foster  is  a  much  better 
man  for  her " 

While  the  judge  was  launched  on  his  speech  to 
Mr.  Wooley,  Lydia's  mind  went  back  to  Foster  — 
Foster  waiting  and  watching  for  O'Bannon  like  a 
puppy  for  its  supper.  Well,  she  could  forgive  him 
even  his  admiration  for  that  man  since  he  had  made 
Alma  Wooley  happy.  A  weight  was  lifted  from  her 
conscience. 

Finally,  witK  some  embarrassment,  she  told  the 
judge  the  object  of  her  visit  —  a  pardon  for  Evans. 
She  was  prepared  to  have  him  remind  her,  as  O'Ban- 
non  had  once  done,  that  it  was  a  matter  which  had 
been  in  her  own  hands,  in  that  in  this  very  room  in 
;which  she  was  now  sitting  she  had  virtually;  refuse^ 
to  help  Evans.  But  Judge  Homans,  if  he  remem 
bered,  made  no  reference  to  the  past. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said.     "]STow  let  me  see.     It  must] 


MANSLAUGHTER  259, 

have  been  O'Bannon  tried  that  case,  wasn't  it?'* 
Lydia  nodded,  and  he  went  on,  "Poor  O'Bannon !  I 
miss  him  very  much.  He  resigned,  you  know,  about 
the  time  Mrs.  O'Bannon  died." 

"He  was  married  ?"  asked  Lydia,  and  even  in  her; 
own  ears  her  voice  sounded  unnaturally  loud. 

!N*o,  the  judge  said,  it  was  the  old  lady,  his  mother; 
and  he  went  on  telling  Lydia  what  a  fine  fellow  the 
former  district  attorney  had  been  •• —  a  good  man  and 
a  good  lawyer. 

"The  two  are  not  always  combined,"  the  judge  said 
with  a  chuckle,  feeling  something  cold  in  his  audi 
tor's  attention. 

Lydia  rose  to  her  feet.  She  was  sorry,  she  said, 
that  she  really  must  be  going  home.  The  judge  found 
his  soft  black  hat  and  accompanied  her  to  her  car, 

"Don't  drive  yourself  ?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  She  would  never  drive  a  fear 
again.  The  judge  patted  her  hand  —  told  her  to  come 
and  see  him  again  —  let  him  know  how  she  was  get 
ting  on.  She  promised.  She  saw  that  in  some  way; 
an  unbreakable  human  bond  had  been  established  be 
tween  them  by  the  fact  that  she  had  committed  a  crime 
and  he  had  sentenced  her  to  state's  prison  for  it. 

She  went  home  feeling  encouraged.  !N~ot  only  had 
she  managed  to  get  him  to  agree  to  enlist  O'Bannon's 
help  in  the  matter  of  Evans'  pardon,  but  she  herself 
had  supported  the  mention  of  O'Bannon's  name  with; 
something  that  was  almost  calm. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IT  WAS  noticeable  —  though  no  one  noticed  it  — 
that  a  month  after  Lydia  went  to  work  in  Mrs. 
Galton's  organization  everyone  in  her  immediate 
circle  was  doing  something  for  released  convicts. 
Bobby,  Miss  Bennett,  Eleanor,  Wiley,  all  suddenly 
began  to  think  that  the  problem  of  the  criminal  was 
the  most  important,  the  most  vital,  the  most  interest 
ing  problem  in  the  world.  The  explanation  was 
simple :  A  will  like  Lydia's,  harnessed  to  a  construc 
tive  purpose,  was  far  more  irresistible  than  in  the  old 
days  when  it  had  been  selfish,  spasmodic  and  undis 
ciplined. 

She  was  given  a  little  office,  like  Miss  Galton's, 
and  she  was  in  it  every  morning  at  nine  o'clock.  Miss 
Bennett,  who  had  worried  all  her  life  because  Lydia 
led  an  irregular,  aimless,  idle  existence,  now  worried 
even  more  because  her  working  hours  were  long. 

"Surely,"  she  protested  almost  every  morning, 
"Mrs.  Galton  will  not  care  if  you  don't  get  there  until 
half  past  nine  or  even  ten.  These  cold  days  it  isn't 
good  for  you " 

Lydia  explained  that  she  was  not  going  to  the  office 
early  in  order  to  please  Mrs.  Galton,  who,  as  a  matter 

280 


MANSLAUGHTER  261 

of  fact,  did  not  arrive  there  until  late  in  the  morning. 
The  organization  needed  money  desperately,  there  was 
much  to  be  done.  But  the  truth  was  she  loved  the 
routine  —  the  hard  impersonal  work.  It  saved  her 
from  herself.  She  was  almost  happy. 

Eleanor  had  evidently  done  what  she  had  been 
asked  to  do,  for  O'Bannon  seemed  to  have  dropped  out 
of  the  world.  His  name  was  never  mentioned,  and 
as  week  after  week  went  by  it  seemed  to  Lydia  that 
she  herself  was  forgetting  him.  Perhaps  a  time  would 
come  when  she  could  even  see  him  without  wrecking 
her  peace  of  soul.  Her  only  sorrow  was  the  delay  in 
Evans'  pardon.  It  didn't  come.  Lydia  could  not 
enjoy  her  liberty  with  Evans  in  prison.  The  forms 
had  all  been  complied  with,  but  the  governor  did  not 
act.  At  last  Mrs.  Galton  suggested  her  going  to  Al 
bany  ;  or  perhaps  she  knew  someone  who  would  have 
influence  with  the  governor.  Yes,  Lydia  knew  some 
one  —  Albee. 

Albee  was  now  senator  from  his  own  state,  and  a 
busy  session  in  Washington  had  kept  him  there.  He 
had  been  among  the  first  to  telegraph  Lydia.  She 
found  his  message  and  his  flowers  in  the  house  when 
she  first  came  home.  The  message  sounded  as  if  it 
had  come  from  a  friend ;  but  Lydia  knew  that  it  had! 
not;  that  Albee  had  escaped  from  her  and  her  influ 
ence,  or  thought  he  had.  She  had  known  it  even  in 
the  days  of  her  trial,  and  looking  back  on  the  facts 
and  on  herself  she  wondered  that  she  had  not  resented 


262  MANSLAUGHTER 

it.  Those  were  clays  in  which  she  had  awarded  pun 
ishments  readily,  and  Albee  had  really  behaved 
badly  to  her.  They  had  been  very  nearly  engaged 
and  yet  the  instant  she  was  in  trouble  he  had  deserted 
her.  He  had  gone  through  all  the  motions  of  helping 
her,  but  in  spirit  she  knew  that  Albee  the  day  she 
killed  Drummond  had  begun  to  disentangle  himself. 
She  felt  not  the  least  resentment  against  him;  only 
she  recognized  the  fact  that  his  remoteness  from  her 
made  it  more  difficult  to  make  use  of  him  for  Evans, 
unless  —  the  idea  suddenly  came  to  her  —  it  might 
make  it  easier.  He  would  avoid  seeing  her  if  he 
could ;  but  if  she  found  her  way  to  him  he  might  be 
eager  to  atone,  to  set  himself  right  by  doing  her  a 
definite  favor. 

The  evening  of  the  day  that  she  saw  this  clearly  she 
took  a  train  to  Washington.  The  next  morning  she 
was  waiting  in  his  outer  office  before  he  reached  it 
himself.  A  new  secretary  —  the  old  one  had  been  pro 
moted  to  some  position  of  political  prominence  at 
home  — did  not  know  her  and  had  not  been  warned 
against  her  by  name.  So  she  was  sitting  there  when 
Albee  came  in  with  his  old  cheerful,  dominating,  leo 
nine  look.  Just  for  the  fraction  of  a  second  his  face 
fell  at  seeing  her,  and  then  he  hurried  to  her  side,  as 
if  out  of  all  the  world  she  was  the  person  he  most 
wanted  to  see. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Lydia  had  become  so 
eaintly  that  she  had  forgotten  her  knowledge  of  men. 


MANSLAUGHTER  263 

She  knew  now  that  if  she  were  cordial  to  Albee  she 
could  not  depend  on  his  doing  what  she  wanted.  If 
Dn  the  other  hand  she  withheld  her  friendship  she 
Was  sure  he  would  bid  high  for  it.  She  ignored  all 
his  flustered  protestations.  She  smiled  at  him,  a 
smile  a  little  sad,  a  little  chilly  and  infinitely 
remote. 

"I  want  very  much  to  speak  to  you,  Stephen,"  she 
said,  and  her  tone  told  him  that  whatever  she  wanted 
to  talk  about  had  nothing  whatsoever  to  do  with  them 
selves. 

He  led  her  into  the  inner  office.  'A  curious  thing 
was  happening  to  him.  He  had  never  been  in  love 
with  Lydia.  He  had  deliberately  allowed  her  beauty 
and  wealth  to  dazzle  him ;  he  had  admired  her  cour 
age,  her  sureness  of  herself,  contrasting  it  with  his 
own  terror  of  giving  offense  to  anyone;  but  at  times 
he  had  almost  hated  her.  If  she  had  inspired  him 
with  one  atom  of  tenderness  he  would  not  have 
deserted  her.  She  never  had.  He  had  cut  himself  off 
from  her  without  regret.  Eut  now  as  she  sat  there, 
finer  and  paler  and  more  —  much  more  —  than  two 
years  older,  she  did  inspire  tenderness,  tenderness  of 
a  most  vivid  and  disturbing  sort.  He  could  not  take 
his  eyes  from  her  face.  He  suddenly  cut  into  what 
she  was  saying  about  Evans. 

"Lydia,  my  dear,  are  you  happy?  Yes,  yes,  of 
course  I  can  get  from  the  governor  anything  you  ask 
jne?  but  tell  me  about  yourself." 


264  MANSLAUGHTER 

He  leaned  over,  taking  her  hands  in  his.  She  rose, 
Withdrawing  them  slowly  as  she  did  so. 

"Not  now,"  she  answered,  and  moved  toward  the 
goor. 

"You  mustn't  go  like  that,"  he  protested.  "Just 
think,  my  dear,  I  have  not  seen  you  for  two  years  — 
the  toughest  two  years  I  ever  spent !  You  can't  just 
come  and  go  like  this.  I  must  see  you,  talk  to  you." 

"When  you  have  got  me  Evans'  pardon, 
Stephen  —  if  you  get  it."  She  still  spoke  gently,  but 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  intention  behind  Lydia  at 
her  gentlest. 

He  caught  the  "if"  —  almost  an  insult  after  his 
confident  assertion,  but  he  did  not  think  of  the  insult. 
He  was  aware  of  nothing  but  the  desire  that  she 
should  smile  gayly  and  admiringly  at  him  again  as 
she  used  to,  making  him  feel  Jovian. 

"I'm  going  to  New  York  on  Thursday,"  he  said. 
"On  Friday  evening  you  shall  have  the  pardon.  Will 
you  be  at  the  opera  Friday  evening  ?" 

She  hesitated.  She  had  not  been  to  the  op3ra  yet. 
She  could  not  bear  the  publicity  of  that  blazing  circle, 
but  she  had  kept  her  box.  After  all,  she  thought,  she 
could  sit  in  the  back  of  it,  and  music  was  one  of  the 
greatest  of  her  pleasures. 

"Will  you  join  me  there  ?"  she  said. 

"It  will  be  like  old  times." 

"Not  quite,"  she  answered. 

Still  with  his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door,  as  if 


MANSLAUGHTER  265 

he  were  just  going  to  open  it  for  her,  he  detained  her, 
trying  to  make  her  talk,  asking  her  about  her  friends, 
her  work,  her  health;  trying  to  hit  upon  the  master 
key  to  her  mind,  and  at  last,  for  he  was  a  man  of  long 
experience,  he  found  it. 

"And  that  damned  crook  who  prosecuted  your 
case,"  he  said.  "Do  you  ever  see  him  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  prefer  not  even  to  think  of  him,"  she  replied, 
and  this  time  she  made  a  gesture  that  he  should  open 
the  door.  Instead  he  stepped  in  front  of  it.  He  had 
waked  her ;  he  had  her  attention  at  last. 

"Naturally,  naturally,"  he  said,  "but  I  wish  you 
would  think  of  him  for  a  minute.  I'm  in  rather  a 
fix  about  that  fellow." 

She  longed  to  know  what  the  fix  was,  but  she  did 
not  dare  hear.  She  said  softly,  "Please  don't  make 
me  think  of  him,  Stephen.  I'd  really  rather  not." 

"But  you  must  listen,  Lydia.  Help  me.  I  don't 
know  what  I  ought  to  do.  I  have  it  in  my  power  to 
ruin  that  man.  Shall  1 3" 

There  was  a  pause.  Albee  heard  her  long  breaths 
trembling  as  she  drew  them.  He  thought  to  himself 
that  his  knowledge  of  her  had  not  gone  astray.  She 
had  hated  that  man,  and  whatever  else  had  changed 
in  her,  that  hadn't.  She  suddenly  came  to  life  and 
tried  to  open  the  door  for  herself. 

"I  must  go,"  she  said.    He  did  not  move. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  speaking  quickly,  "that  after 


266  MANSLAUGHTER 

your  trial  lie  went  to  pieces,  resigned  his  position,  tools 
to  drinking  again,  tried  to  make  his  way  in  New,  York. 
He  was  nearly  down  and  out  for  a  time  there." 

He  watched  her.  A  smile,  a  terrible  smile,  began 
to  curve  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  He  went  on : 

"I  couldn't  be  exactly  sorry  for  his  bad  lucid.  In 
fact,  to  be  candid,  I  gave  him  a  kick  or  two  when  I 
had  the  chance.  But  now  he's  pulled  himself  out. 
He's  worked  like  a  dog,  and  I  hear  that  a  couple  of 
friends  of  mine,  of  the  firm  of  Simpson,  Aspinwall  &; 
Me  Carter,  are  going  to  offer  him  a  partnership.  It's 
a  big  firm,  particularly  in  the  political  world."  There 
was  a  short  silence.  "Shall  I  let  him  have  it,  I/^dia  ?" 

She  raised  her  shoulders  scornfully. 

"Could  you  stop  his  getting  it,  Stephen  ?" 

"Do  you  doubt  it  ?" 

She  turned  on  him.  Her  jaw  was  set  and  lifted 
as  in  the  old  days. 

"Of  course  I  do !  If  you  could  have  you  certainly 
jvould  have  without  consulting  me.  There  is  a  man 
who  you  know  lacks  all  integrity  and  honor,  and  who, 
moreover,  goes  about  saying  that  you  tried  to  bribe 
him  —  and  failed.  Oh,  he  makes  a  great  point  of 
that —  you  failed!  Would  you  let  a  man  like  that 
go  into  a  firm  of  your  friends  if  you  could  stop  it  ? 
"No,  no!  "Not  unless  you  have  grown  a  good  deal 
meeker  than  I  remember  you,  Stephen." 

Albee  made  a  sweeping  gesture,  as  expressive  as  a 
Roman  emperor's  thumbs  down. 


MANSLAUGHTER  267 

"He  shall  not  have  it,"  and  lie  added  with  a  smile 
as  cruel  as  Lydia's  own :  "He  believes  himself  abso 
lutely  sure  of  it." 

She  smiled  straight  into  his  eyes. 

"Bring  me  that  Friday  night,"  she  said.  "It's  more 
important  than  the  pardon." 

He  opened  the  door  for  her  and  she  went  out. 

This  was  Wednesday.  She  could  hardly  wait  for 
Friday  to  come.  This  was  the  right  way  —  to  destroy 
the  man  first  and  then  to  forget  him.  She  had  been 
silly  and  sentimental  and  weak  to  fancy  that  she  could 
'have  real  peace  in  any  other  way,  to  imagine  that  she 
could  go  through  life  skulking,  fearing.  She  was 
furious  at  herself  when  she  remembered  that  she  had 
asked  Eleanor  to  avoid  mentioning  his  name.  She 
could  mention  his  name  now  herself,  and  see  him  too. 
She  would  enjoy  seeing  him.  She  was  hardly  aware 
of  the  passage  of  time  on  her  journey  back  to  New 
York.  She  was  living  over  a  meeting  between 
O'Bannon  and  herself  after  the  partnership  had  been 
withdrawn.  He  must  be  made  aware  that  it  was  her 
doing. 

She  reached  home  just  before  dinner,  and  found 
that  Miss  Bennett  was  dining  out.  Good!  Lydia 
had  no  objection  to  being  alone.  But  Benny  had 
arranged  otherwise.  She  had  telephoned  to  Eleanor, 
and  she  was  coming  to  dine.  Lydia  smiled.  That 
was  pleasant  too. 

Eleanor  was  an  intelligent  woman  but  not  a  mind 


268  MANSLAUGHTER 

reader.  She  saw  some  change  had  taken  place  in 
Lydia,  noticed  that  she  ate  no  dinner,  and  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  something  had  gone  wrong  about 
Evans'  pardon ;  that  Albee  had  been,  as  usual,  a  weak 
friend.  When  they  were  alone  after  dinner  was  over 
she  prepared  herself  to  hear  the  story.  Instead, 
Lydia  said,  "I'm  going  to  the  opera  on  Friday, 
Nell  —  Samson  and  Delilah.  Will  you  come  with 
me?" 

There  was  a  little  pause,  a  slight  constraint.  Then 
Eleanor  answered  that  she  couldn't;  that  she  had  a 
box  of  her  own  that  someone  had  sent  her.  Lydia 
sprang  up  with  a  sudden,  short,  wild  laugh. 

"That  man's  going  with  you  I"  she  said. 

"Mr.  O'Bannon  ?  Yes,  he  is."  Eleanor  thought  a 
second.  "I'll  put  him  off,  Lydia.  I'll  tell  him  not  to 
come." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  It's  perfect.  I 
don't  know  what  got  into  me  the  other  day,  Eleanor. 
You  must  have  despised  me  for  such  pitiful  cow 
ardice." 

"No,  my  dear,"  said  Eleanor  slowly,  but  obviously 
relieved  that  the  question  had  come  up  again.  "But 
I  did  feel  that  you  weren't  going  to  work  the  best  way 
to  get  the  poison  of  the  whole  thing  out  of  your  soul." 

Lydia  laughed  the  same  way  again. 

"Oh,  don't  worry  about  that !    I  shall  get  rid  of  the 
poison." 
J'    "How?" 


MANSLAUGHTER  269 

"I  shall  make  him  suffer.  I  shall  revenge  myself, 
and  then  forget  he  exists.  You  can  tell  him  so  if 
you  want." 

Eleanor  stare'd  in  front  of  her,  blank  and  serious. 
Then  she  said,  "I  don't  have  many^  opportunities  any 
more.  I  seldom  see  him." 

Lydia's  eyes  brightened. 

"Ah,  you've  found  him  out !" 

"On  the  contrary,  the  longer  I  know  him  the  more 
highly  I  think  of  him.  I  don't  see  him  because  he's 
busy.  He  has  been  having  a  difficult  time  —  in  busi 
ness.  He  decided  to  get  out  of  politics  and  go  into 
straight  law.  New  York  is  like  a  ferocious  monster 
to  a  man  beginning  any  profession.  Dan  —  but  it 
doesn't  matter.  His  troubles  are  over  now." 

"Are  they  indeed  ?"  said  Lydia. 

"Yes,  he's  had  a  wonderful  offer  of  a  partnership 

from  an  older  man  who Oh,  Lydia,  you  ought 

to  try  to  see  that  your  point  of  view  about  him  is  a 
prejudiced  —  a  natural  one,  but  still " 

"Is  it  a  definite  offer,  Eleanor?" 

"Yes,  absolutely,  though  the  papers  are  not  to  be 
signed  for  a  day  or  so." 

Lydia  breathed  in  thoughtfully  "A  day  or  so^  and 
Eleanor  pressed  on. 

"It  isn't  that  I  care  what  you  think  of  him  or  he 
of  you.  I'm  past  that  with  my  friends,  and,  as  I 
say,  I  don't  see  nearly  as  much  of  him  as  I  used  to ; 
but " 


270  MANSLAUGHTER 

"Of  course  you  don't,"  answered  Lydia.  "He's 
ashamed  —  or,  no,  it's  more  that  he  can't  bear  to  see 
himself  in  contrast  with  your  perfect  integrity, 
Eleanor.  Did  you  know  that  he  came  to  prison  to  see 
me,  to  gloat  over  me  ?  Sent  in  for  me  to  come  to  him 
in  my  prison  clothes " 

Lydia's  breath  quickened  as  she  spoke  of  the  out 
rage. 

"He  didn't  come  to  gloat  over  you." 

"What  did  he  come  for  then  ?" 

To  her  own  surprise  Eleanor  heard  her  own  voice 
saying,  as  if  unaided  it  tapped  some  source  of  knowl 
edge  never  before  open  to  her,  "Because  you  know 
very  well,  Lydia,  the  man's  in  love  with  you." 

Lydia  sprang  forward  like  a  cat. 

"Never  say  such  a  thing  as  that  again!"  she  said. 
"You  don't  understand,  but  it  degrades  me,  it  pol 
lutes  me !  Love  me !  That  man !  I'd  kill  him  if  I 
thought  he  dared!" 

Nothing  rendered  Eleanor  so  calm  as  excitement  in 
others. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "perhaps  I'm  mistaken,"  and 
appeared  to  let  the  matter  drop;  but  the  other  would 
not  have  it. 

"Of  course  you're  mistaken !  But  you  must  have 
had  some  reason  for  saying  such  a  thing.  You're  not 
the  kind  of  person,  Eleanor,  who  goes  about  having 
disgusting  suspicions  like  that  without  a  reason." 

"Do  you  really  want  me  to  give  you  a  reason  or 


MANSLAUGHTEK  271 

are  you  only  waiting  to  tear  me  to  pieces,  whatever  I 
say?" 

Lydia  sat  down  and  caught  her  hands  between  her 
knees,  determined  to  be  good. 

"I  want  your  reason,"  she  said. 

Reasons  were  not  so  easy,  Eleanor  found.  She 
spoke  slowly. 

"I  saw  all  through  your  trial  that  Dan  was  not 
like  himself,  that  he  was  struggling  with  something 
stronger  than  he.  He  is  a  man  who  has  always  had 
terrible  weaknesses,  temptations  " 

"He  drinks,"  said  Lydia,  and  there  was  a  note 
of  almost  boastful  triumph  in  her  tone. 

"No"  —  Eleanor  was  very  firm  about  it  —  "in  re 
cent  years  only  once." 

"More  than  once,  Eleanor." 

"Only  once,  in  a  time  of  emotional  strain.  What 
was  the  emotion  ?  You  had  just  been  sentenced.  Ifc 
came  to  me  suddenly  that  if  he  were  in  love  with  you 
—  it  would  explain  everything." 

"If  he  hated  me  —  that  would  explain  it  too." 

"The  two  emotions  are  pretty  close,  Lydia." 

"Close?"  Lydia  exclaimed  violently.  "It  shows 
that  you  have  never  felt  either." 

"Have  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I've  felt  hate.  It's  poisoned  and  withered 
me  for  over  two  years  now,  and.  I  don't  mean  to  bear 
it  any  more.  I  mean  to  get  rid  of  it  this  way  —  to 
hurt  that  man  enough  to  satisfy  myself." 


272  MANSLAUGHTEK 

Eleanor  rose  slowly,  and  the  two  women  stood  a 
little  apart,  looking  at  each  other.  Then  Eleanor 
said,  "You'll  never  get  rid  of  it  that  way.  Don't  do 
it,  Lydia,  whatever  you  mean  to  do." 

"You're  pleading  for  that  man,  Nell.  Don't!  It's 
ignominious." 

"I'm  pleading  for  you,  my  dear." 

"Don't!       It's  impertinent." 

Worse  than  either,  Eleanor  knew  it  was  useless, 
Her  motor  was  waiting  for  her  and  she  went  away. 
For  the  first  time  she  understood  something  that  Dor 
set  had  once  said  to  her  —  that  Lydia  in  he? 
moods  was  the  most  pathetic  figure  in.  the  wor?<L 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 

BEFOKE  the  lights  went  up  on  the  first  entr'acte 
Ljdia  retreated  to  the  little  red-lined  box  of 
an  anteroom  and  sank  down  on  the  red-silk 
sofa.     She  and  Miss  Bennett  had  come  alone  to  the 
opera ;   but  Dorset  and  Albee,  who  was  committed  to 
some  sort  of  political  dinner  first,  were  to  join  them 
presently. 

Even  while  the  house  was  still  in  darkness  Lydia 
had  recognized  the  outline  of  O'Bannon's  head  in  a 
box  across  the  house.  She  had  seen  it  before  she 
had  seen  Eleanor.  Miss  Bennett  had  stayed  in  the 
front  of  the  box.  Lydia  was  glad  she  had.  She 
wanted  to  be  alone  while  she  waited.  She  could  see 
her  between  the  curtains,  sweeping  the  house  with  her 
opera  glasses. 

The  door  of  the  box  opened  and  Albee  came  in. 
She  did  not  speak,  but  looking  up  at  him  every  mus 
cle  in  her  body  grew  tense  with  interest.  He  smiled 
at  her  and  began  to  hang  up  his  hat  and  take  off  his 
coat.  She  couldn't  bear  the  suspense. 

"Well  3"  she  asked  sternly. 

"It's  all  right.     The  governor  will  sign  it.     It's 

only  been  pressure  of  business  — " 

273 


274  MANSLAUGHTEK 

She  interrupted  him. 

"And  the  other  thing?  Have  you  failed  there ?" 
Somehow  she  had  never  thought  of  his  failing.  iWhat 
should  she  do  if  he  had  ? 

He  made  a  quick  pass  with  his  right  hand,  indica 
ting  that  O'Bannon  had  been  obliterated. 

"Our  friend  will  never  be  a.  partner  in  that  firm," 
he  said. 

He  looked  at  her  eagerly  and  got  his  reward.  She 
smiled  at  him,  slowly  wagging  her  head  at  the  same 
time,  as  if  he  were  too  wonderful  for  words. 

"Stephen,  you  are  superb,"  she  said,  and  evidently 
felt  it.  "Does  he  know  it  yet  ?" 

"!N~o,  he  won't  know  it  until  he  opens  his  mail  to 
morrow  morning." 

Lydia  leaned  forward  and  peered  out  into  the 
house  between  the  curtains.  Then  she  turned  back 
and  smiled  again,  but  this  time  with  amusement. 

"He's  over  there  now  with  Eleanor,  pleased  to 
death  with  himself  and  thinking  the  world  is  his 
oyster." 

Albee  had  been  standing.  ISTow  as  the  lights  be 
gan  to  sink  for  the  opening  of  the  second  act  he  gave 
an  exclamation  of  annoyance. 

"I  have  something  to  show  you,"  he  said.  He  sat 
down  beside  her  on  the  narrow  little  sofa,  and  lower 
ing  his  voice  to  fit  the  lowered  lights  he  whispered, 
"What  would  you  give  for  a  copy  of  Simpson's  letter 
withdrawing  his  partnership  offer  ?" 


MANSLAUGHTEK  275 

"You  have  it  ?"  Her  voice  betrayed  that  she  would 
give  anything. 

"What  would  you  give  me  for  it  2"  he  murmured, 
and  in  the  darkness  he  put  his  arms  about  her  and 
tried  to  draw  her  to  him. 

"I  won't  give  you  a  thing!"  Her  voice  was  like 
steel,  and  so  was  her  body. 

Albee's  heart  failed  him.  It  seemed  as  if  his  arms 
were  paralyzed.  He  did  not  dare  do  what  he  had 
imagined  himself  doing  —  crushing  her  to  him 
whether  she  consented  or  not.  He  suddenly  thought 
to  himself  that  she  was  capable  of  making  an  outcry. 

"The  inhuman,  unfeminine  creature !"  he  thought, 
even  as  he  still  held  her. 

He  felt  her  put  out  her  hand  and  quietly  take  the 
letter  from  him.  No,  that  was  a  little  too  much! 
He  caught  her  wrist  and  held  it  firmly.  Then  the 
door  opened,  someone  came  in,  Bobby's  voice  said, 
"Are  you  here,  Lydia?" 

"Yes/'  said  Lydia  in  her  sweetest,  most  natural 
tone.  "Turn  on  the  light,  Bobby,  or  you'll  fall  over 
something.  It's  just  there  on  your  right." 

It  took  Bobby  a  moment  to  find  the  switch.  When' 
he  turned  on  the  light  he  saw  Lydia  and  Albee  sit 
ting  side  by  side  on  the  sofa.  Lydia  was  holding  a 
folded  paper  in  her  hand. 

"What's  the  point  of  sitting  in  here  when  the  act 
is  on  ?"  said  Bobby.  "Let's  go  in  and  see  her  vamp 
the  strong  man." 


276  MANSLAUGHTEK 

Ljdia  sprang  up,  and  looking  at  Albee  deliberately 
tucked  away  the  paper  in  the  front  of  her  low  dress. 

"Turn  out  the  light  again  Bobby/'  she  said.  "It 
shines  between  the  curtains  and  disturbs  me." 

All  three  went  back  to  the  box,  where  Miss  Ben 
nett  had  been  sitting  alone.  It  was  a  long  time  since 
Lydia  had  heard  any  music,  and  the  music  of  the 
second  act  of  Samson  and  Delilah,  the  long  sweeping 
chords  on  the  harp,  began  to  trouble  her,  as  the  com 
ing  thunderstorm  seemed  to  be  troubling  Delilah. 

Her  long  abstraction  from  any  artistic  impression: 
made  her  as  susceptible  as  a  child.  The  moonlight 
flooded  her  with  SL  primitive  glamour,  her  nerves 
crept  to  the  music  of  the  incredibly  sweet  duet;  and 
when  at  last  Samson  followed  Delilah  into  her  house 
Lydia  felt  as  if  the  soprano's  triumph  were  her  own. 

As  the  storm  broke  Albee  rose.  He  bent  over  Miss 
Bennett  and  then  over  Lydia. 

"Good  night,  Delilah,"  he  whispered. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  she  thought,  "Not  to  your 
Samson,  Stephen  Albee." 

He  was  gone  and  she  still  had  the  letter.  When 
the  act  was  over  she  went  back  to  the  anteroom  to 
read  it.  Yes,  there  it  was  on  Simpson,  Aspinwall  & 
McOarter's  heavy,  simple  stationery  —  clear  and  un 
equivocal.  Mr.  Simpson  regretted  so  much  that  con 
ditions  had  arisen  which  made  it  imperative 

Lydia  glanced  across  the  house  and  caught  O'Ban- 
non  laughing  at  something  that  Eleanor  was  saying 


MANSLAUGHTEK  277 

to  him.  She  smiled.  Whatever  the  joke  was,  she 
thought  she  knew  a  better  one. 

"How  lovely  you  look,  Lydia,"  said  Bobby,  seeing 
the  smile.  "Almost  like  a  madonna  in  that  white 
stuff  —  like  a  madonna  painted  by  an  Apache 
Indian." 

"Have  you  anything  that  I  could  write  on  Bobby 
—  a  scrap  of  paper  ?" 

Bobby  tore  out  a  page  from  a  cherished  address 
book  and  gave  it  to  her  with  a  gold  pencil  from  his 
watch  chain.  She  stood  under  the  light,  pressing  the 
top  of  the  pencil  against  her  lips.  Then  she  wrote 
rapidly : 

"I  have  something  of  importance  to  say  to  you. 
[Will  you  meet  me  in  the  lobby  on  the  Thirty-ninth 
'Street  side  at  the  end  of  the  performance  and  let  me 
drive  you  home?  X-YDIA  THOENE." 

She  folded  it  and  held  it  out. 

"Will  you  take  that  to  O'Bannon  and  get  an  answer 
from  him  ?" 

"To  O'Bannon  ?"  said  Bobby.  "Has  anything 
happened  ?" 

"Don't  bother  me  now,  Bobby,  there's  a  dear.  Just 
take  it."  She  half  shoved  him  out  of  the  box.  "And 
be  as  quick  as  you  can,"  she  called  after  him. 

He  really  was  quick.  In  a  few  seconds  she  saw  the 
curtain  of  the  opposite  box  pushed  aside  and  Bobby 
tenter.  He  spoke  a  moment  to  Eleanor,  and  then 


278  MANSLAUGHTER 

when  no  one  else  was  watching  she  saw  him  speak  to 
O'Bannon  and  give  him  her  note.  The  two  men  rose 
and  went  together  into  the  back  of  the  box  out  of  her 
sight.  What  was  happening?  Was  O'Bannon  now 
on  his  way  to  her?  There  was  a  long  delay.  Miss 
Bennett's  voice  called,  "Is  somebody  knocking?" 
The  noise  was  Lydia's  restless  feet  tapping  on  the 
floor.  Just  as  the  lights  began  to  go  down  Bobby 
returned  • —  alone.  He  handed  her  a  note. 

"Dear  Miss  Thome:  I  cannot  drive  home  with 
you,  but  I  will  stop  at  your  house  for  a  few  minutes 
about  half -past  eleven  or  a  quarter  to  twelve,  if  that  is 
not  too  late.  D.  O'B." 

Lydia  smiled  again.  This  was  better  still.  She 
would  have  plenty  of  time  in  her  own  drawing-room 
to  reveal  the  facts  in  any  way  she  liked.  She  hardly; 
heard  the  music  of  the  next  theme,  hardly 
enjoyed  the  spectacle  of  Samson's  degradation,  so 
absorbed  was  she  in  the  anticipation  of  the  coming 
interview. 

During  the  ballet  in  the  last  scene  she  saw  Eleanor 
rise  and  O'Bannon  follow  her.  She  sprang  up  at 
once,  though  Miss  Bennett  faintly  protested. 

"Oh,  aren't  you  going  to  wait  to  see  him  pull  down 
the  temple  ?  It's  such  fun."  Miss  Bennett  liked  to  see 
masculine  strength  conquer.  Lydia  shook  her  head, 
but  offered  no  explanation. 

It  was  almost  half  past  eleven  when  they  entered 


MANSLAUGHTEK  279 

the  house.  Miss  Bennett,  who  had  been  yawning  on 
the  drive  home,  walked  straight  to  the  staircase.  Mor- 
son  had  delegated  his  duties  for  the  evening  to  the 
parlor  maid,  a  young  Swede,  and  she  began  industri 
ously  drawing  the  bolts  of  the  front  door  and  prepar 
ing  to  put  out  the  lights.  Lydia  stopped  her. 

"Get  me  a  glass  of  water,  will  you,  Frieda  ?"  she 
said. 

"There'll  be  one  in  your  room,  dear,"  Miss  Ben 
nett  called  back,  every  inch  the  housekeeper.  She  did 
not  stop,  however,  but  went  on  up  and  disappeared 
round  the  turn  in  the  stairs. 

When  the  girl  came  back  Lydia  said,  "Frieda,  I'm 
expecting  a  gentleman  in  a  few  minutes.  After  you've 
let  him  in  you  need  not  wait  up.  Is  the  fire  lit  in  the 
drawing-room  ?  Then  light  it,  please." 

She  stood  for  a  moment,  sipping  at  the  long,  cool 
glass  and  listening  to  hear  Miss  Bennett's  footsteps 
growing  more  and  more  distant;  listening,  too,  for  a 
footstep  in  the  street. 

In  the  drawing-room  the  firelight  was  already  leap 
ing  up,  outdoing  the  light  of  the  shaded  lamps.  Left 
alone,  Lydia  slipped  off  her  opera  cloak  very  softly, 
as  if  she  did  not  want  to  make  the  smallest  noise  that 
would  interfere  with  her  listening.  The  house  waa 
quiet,  and  even  the  noise  of  the  city  was  beginning  t<3 
die  down.  The  steady  roar  of  traffic  returning  from 
the  theater  was  almost  over.  ISTow  and  then  she  could 
tear  a  Fifth  Avenue  bus  rolling  along  on  its  heavy; 


280  MANSLAUGHTER 

rubber  tires;  now  and  then  the  slamming  of  a  motor 
door  as  some  of  her  neighbors  returned  from  an  eve 
ning's  amusement. 

She  bent  over  the  fire  trying  to  warm  her  hands. 
They  were  like  ice,  and  it  must  have  been  from  cold, 
not  excitement,  she  thought,  for  her  mind  felt  as  calm 
as  a  well.  She  turned  the  little  clock  —  all  lilac 
enamel  and  rhinestones  —  so  that  she  could  watch  it's 
tiny  face.  It  was  a  quarter  to  twelve.  She  clenched 
her  hands.  Did  he  intend  to  keep  her  waiting  ? 

She  started,  for  the  door  had  softly  opened.  Miss 
Bennett  entered  in  one  of  her  gorgeous  dressing  gowns 
of  crimson  satin  and  bright-blue  birds. 

"Dear  child,"  she  said,  "you  ought  to  be  in  bed." 

"I'm  waiting  for  someone  who's  coming  to  see  me, 
Benny ;  and  as  he  may  be  here  at  any  minute,  and  I 
don't  suppose  you  want  to  be  caught  in  your  present 
costume " 

Miss  Bennett  lifted  her  shoulders. 

"Oh,  at  my  age !"  she  said.  "After  all,  what  is  the 
use  of  having  lovely  dressing  gowns  if  no  one  ever 
sees  them  ?" 

"It's  Dan  O'Bannon  that's  coming,"  said  Lydia, 
"and  I  want  to  see  him  alone." 

"O'Bannon  coming  here !  But,  Lydia,  you  can't  see 
him  alone  —  at  this  hour.  Why,  it's  midnight !" 

Miss  Bennett's  eyes  clung  to  her. 

"Eleven  minutes  to,"  said  Lydia,  with  her  eyes  on 
the  clock.  "I  wish  you'd  go,  Benny;." 


MANSLAUGHTER  281 

Miss  Bennett  hesitated. 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  see  him  alone.  I  don't 
think  it's  quite  —  quite  nice." 

"Oh,  this  is  going  to  be  very  nice !" 

"No,  I  mean  I  don't  think  it's  safe.  Suppose  any 
thing  should  happen." 

"Should  happen?"  said  Lydia,  and  for  a  moment 
she  looked  like  the  old  haughty  Lydia.  "What  could 
happen  ?" 

Miss  Bennett  raised  both  her  arms  and  let  them 
drop  with  a  gesture  quite  French,  expressing  that  they^ 
both  knew  what  men  were. 

"He  might  try  to  make  love  to  you,"  she  said. 

The  minute  she  had  spoken  she  wished  she  had  not, 
for  Lydia's  fine  dark  brow  contracted. 

"What  disgusting  ideas  you  do  have  Benny! 
That  man!"  She  stopped  herself.  "I  almost  wish 
he  would.  If  he  did  I  think  I  should  kill  him." 

To  Miss  Bennett  this  seemed  just  an  expression; 
but  to  Lydia,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  an  enormous  pair 
of  steel-and-silver  scissors  that  lay  on  the  writing  table, 
it  was  something  more  than  a  phrase. 

Miss  Bennett  decided  to  withdraw. 

"Stop  in  my  room  when  you  come  up,"  she  said. 
"I  shan't  close  my  eyes  till  you  do."  Then  gathering 
her  shining  draperies  about  her  she  left  the  room. 

Even  after  Miss  Bennett  had  gone  her  suggestion 
remained  with  Lydia.  Would  that  man  have  any 
such  idea  ?  Would  he  think  her  sending  for  him  at 


282  MANSLAUGHTER 

Buch  an  hour  had.  any  flattering  significance?  Or 
would  he  see  that  it  was  proof  of  her  utter  contempt 
for  him  —  of  her  belief  that  she  was  his  superior,  the 
master  mind  of  the  two,  whatever  their  situation? 
As  for  love-making  —  let  him  try  it !  Her  blow 
would  be  all  the  more  effective  if  it  could  be  delivered 
while  he  was  on  his  knees. 

With  an  absurd,  hurried,  tingling  stroke  the  little 
(clock  struck  midnight.  Strange,  she  thought,  that 
[waiting  for  something  certain  stretched  the  nerves 
more  than  uncertainty.  She  knew  O'Bannon  would 
come  —  or  did  she  ?  Would  he  dare  do  that  ?  Leave 
her  sitting  waiting  for  him  and  never  come  at  all? 
Undoubtedly  he  had  taken  Eleanor  back  to  her  hotel. 
Were  they  laughing  together  over  her  note  ? 

At  that  instant  she  heard  the  distant  buzz  of  the 
front  doorbell.  Every  nerve  in  her  body  vibrated  at 
the  sound.  Then  the  drawing-room  door  opened  and 
closed  behind  O'Bannon. 

The  fly  had  walked  into  the  parlor,  she  said  to  her 
self  —  a  great  big  immaculately  attired  fly.  Seeing 
him  there  before  her  all  her  nervousness  passed  away, 
and  she  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  joy  —  a  joy  as 
inspiring  as  if  it  were  founded  on  something  holier 
than  hatred ;  joy  that  at  last  her  moment  had  come. 

She  waited  a  second  for  his  apology,  and  then  she 
said  quite  in  the  manner  of  a  great  lady  who  without 
complaining  is  conscious  of  what  is  due  to  her, 
"You're  late.7' 


MANSLAUGHTER  283 

"I  walked  up,"  lie  said.     "It's  a  lovely  night." 

"You  have  wondered  why  I  sent  for  you  ?" 

"Of  course." 

She  sank  lazily  into  a  chair  by  the  fire. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said  graciously,  as  if  she  were  ac 
cording  the  privilege  to  an  old  servant  who  might 
hesitate  otherwise. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  answered;  "I  can't  stay  but  a  minute* 
It's  after  twelve." 

He  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece  and  toot 
up  the  jade  dog  that  stood  there,  examining  its  pol 
ished  surfaces.  Lydia  was  well  content  with  this  ar 
rangement.  It  made  her  feel  more  at  ease.  She  let 
a  silence  fall,  and  in  the  silence  he  raised  his  eyes 
from  the  dog  and  looked  at  her  as  if  he  were  reluc 
tant  to  do  so. 

He  said,  "I'm  glad  to  see  you  here  —  back  in  your 
normal  surroundings." 

Thank  heaven  she  did  not  have  to  be  dovelike  any 
more. 

"Oh,  are  you  ?"  she  said  derisively.  "Didn't  you 
enjoy  your  little  visit  to  me  in  prison  ?" 

He  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Then  may  I  ask  why  you  came  ?" 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  tell  you  that." 

"Do  you  think  I  don't  know?"  she  asked  with  a 
sudden  fierceness. 


284  MAtfSLAUGHTEK 

"I  really  haven't  thought  whether  you  knew  or 


not." 


"You  came  to  get  just  what  you  did  get  —  the  full 
savor  of  the  humiliation  of  my  position." 

"My  God,"  he  answered  coolly,  "and  they  say 
Women  have  intuition!" 

His  tone,  as  much  as  his  words,  irritated  her,  and 
she  did  not  want  to  be  irritated.  She  raised  her  chin. 

"It  doesn't  really  matter  why  you  came,  at  least 
iiot  to  me.  Let  me  tell  you  why  I  sent  for  you  to 
night." 

But  he  was  pursuing  his  own  train  of  thought  and 
did  not  seem  to  hear  her. 

''Are  you  able  to  come  back  into  life  again  ?  Are 
you"  —  he  hesitated  —  "are  you  happy  ?" 

"No.  But  then  I  never  was  very  happy.  I  can 
tell  you  this :  I  wouldn't  exchange  my  prison  experi 
ence  for  anything  in  my  whole  life.  You  gave  me 
something,  Mr.  O'Bannon,  when  you  sent  me  to 
prison,  that  no  one  else  was  ever  able  to  give  me,  not 
even  my  father,  though  he  tried.  I  mean  a  sense  of 
the  consequences  of  my  own  character.  That's  the 
only  aspect  of  punishment  that  is  of  use  to  people." 

His  eyes  lit  up. 

"You  don't  mean  you're  grateful  to  me !"  he  said. 

"No,  not  grateful,"  she  answered,  and  a  little  smile! 
began  to  curve  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "Not  grate 
ful  to  you,  because,  you  see,  I  am  going  to  return  the 
Obligation  —  to  do  the  same  kind  deed  to  you." 


MAISTSLAUGHTEK  285 

"To  me?     I  don't  believe  I  understand." 

"I  don't  believe  you  do.  But  be  patient.  You 
will.  During  my  trial,  I  imagine  —  in  fact  I  was 
told  by  your  friends  —  that  you  took  the  position  that 
you  were  treating  me  as  you  treated  any  criminal 
>?hose  case  you  prosecuted." 

"What  other  stand  could  I  take?" 

"Oh,  officially  none.  But  in  your  mind  you  must 
have  known  you  had  another  motive.  Some  people 
think  it  was  a  young  man's  natural  thirst  for  head 
lines,  but  I  know  —  and  I  want  you  to  know  I  know 
it  —  that  it  was  your  personal  vindictiveness  toward 
me." 

"Don't  say  that !"  he  interrupted  sharply. 

"I  shall  say  it,"  Lydia  went  on,  "and  to  you,  be 
cause  you  are  the  only  person  I  can  say  it  to.  Oh, 
you  knew  very  well  how  it  would  be !  I  have  to  sit 
silent  while  Eleanor  tells  me  how  noble  your  motives 
were  in  prosecuting  me.  You  know  —  oh,  you  are 
so  safe  in  knowing  —  that  I  will  not  tell  anyone  that 
your  hatred  of  me  goes  back  to  that  evening  when  I 
did  not  show  myself  susceptible  to  your  fascinations 
when  you  tried  to  kiss  me,  and  I " 

"I  did  kiss  you,"  said  O'Bannon. 

"I  believe  you  did,  but " 

"You  know  I  did." 

She  sprang  up  at  this. 

"And  is  that  something  you're  proud  of,  something 
it  gives  you  satisfaction  to  remember  ?" 


286  MANSLAUGHTER 

"The  keenest." 

She  stamped  her  foot. 

"That  you  kissed  a  woman  against  her  will? 
Held  her  in  your  arms  because  you  were  physically 
stronger  ?  You  like  to  remember " 

"It  was  not  against  your  will,"  he  said. 

"It  was!" 

"It  was  not!"  he  repeated.  "Do  you  think  I 
haven't  been  over  that  moment  often  enough  to  be 
sure  of  what  happened  ?  You  were  not  angry !  You 
were  glad  I  took  you  in  my  arms!  You  would  have 
been  glad  if  I  had  done  it  earlier !" 

"Liar !"  said  Lydia.  "Liar  and  cad  —  to  say  such 
a  thing!"  She  was  shivering  so  violently  that  her 
teeth  chattered  like  a  person  in  an  ague.  "If  you 
knew  —  if  you  could  guess  the  repugnance,  the  hor 
ror  of  a  woman  embraced  by  a  man  she  loathes  and 
despises !  Her  flesh  creeps !  There  are  no  words  for 
it!  And  then  —  then  to  be  told  by  that  man's  mad 
vanity  that  she  liked  it,  that  she  wanted  it,  that  she 
brought  it  on  herself " 

"Just  wait  a  moment,"  he  said.  "I  believe  that 
you  hate  me  now  all  right,  whatever  you  felt  then." 

"I  do,  I  do  hate  you,"  she  answered,  "and  I  have 
the  power  of  proving  it.  I  can  do  you  an  injury." 

"You  will  always  have  the  power  of  injuring  me." 

"Be  sure  I  will  use  it." 

"I  dare  say  you  will." 

"I  have.    I  haven't  wasted  any  time  at  all." 


MANSLAUGHTEK  287 

"What  is  all  this  about  ?  What  have  you  done  ?" 
he  asked  without  much  interest. 

She  drew  the  letter  out  of  the  front  of  her  dress 
and  handed  it  to  him  with  a  hand  that  trembled 
so  much  it  made  the  folded  paper  rattle.  He 
took  it,  unfolded  it,  read  it.  Watching  him,  she 
saw  no  change  in  his  face  until  he  looked  up  and 
smiled. 

"Is  this  it  ?"  he  asked.  "A  lot  I  care  about  that  — 
not  to  go  into  the  Simpson  firm!  You  don't  under 
stand  your  power.  The  things  that  would  have  made 
me  suffer  —  well,  if  you  had  let  prison  break  you,  if 
you  had  given  your  love  to  that  crooked  politician 

who  came  down  to  bribe  me  on  your  behalf Why, 

when  you  fell  at  my  feet  in  the  reception  room  at 
Auburn  I  suffered  more  than  in  all  my  life  before  or 
since,  because  I  love  you." 

"Stop !"  said  Lydia.    "Don't  dare  say  that  to  me  I" 

"I  love  you,"  he  said.  "You  don't  have  to  go  about 
looking  for  things  like  this,"  and  he  flicked  the  letter 
contemptuously  into  the  fire.  "You  make  me  suffer 
just  by  existing." 

"I  won't  listen  to  you !"  said  Lydia,  and  she  moved 
away. 

"Of  course  you'll  listen  to  me,"  he  answered,  stand 
ing  between  her  and  the  door.  "There  isn't  one  thing 
you've  done  since  I  first  saw  you  that  has  given  me 
the  slightest  pleasure  or  peace  or  happiness — • 
nothing  but  unrest  and  pain.  When  you're  hard  and 


288  MANSLAUGHTER 

bitter  I  suffer,  and  when  you're  gentle  and 
kind " 

She  gave  a  sort  of  laugh  at  this. 

"When  have  you  ever  seen  me  gentle  and  kind?" 
she  asked. 

"Oh,  I  know  how  wonderfully  you  could  give  your 
self  to  a  man  if  you  loved  him." 

"Don't  say  such  things!"  she  said,  actually  shud 
dering.  "It  sickens  me !  Don't  even  think  them !" 

"Think !    Good  God,  the  things  I  think !" 

"Don't  even  think  of  me  at  all  except  as  your  re 
lentless  enemy.  If  it  were  true  what  you  just  said 
now,  that  you  love  me " 

"It  is  true." 

"I  hope  it  is.  It  gives  me  more  power  to  hurt  you. 
It  must  make  it  worse  for  you  to  know  how  I  hate, 
how  I  despise  you,  everything  about  you ;  your  using 
your  looks  and  your  fine  figure  to  hypnotize  simple 
people  like  Eleanor  and  Miss  Bennett  and  poor 
Evans ;  the  vanity  that  makes  you  hate  me  for  being 
free  of  your  charms ;  and  all  the  petty,  underhanded 
things  you  did  in  the  trial ;  all  your  sentimental  bun 
combe  with  the  poor  little  Wooley  girl;  and  your 
twisting  the  law  —  the  law  that  you  are  supposed  to 
uphold  —  in  order  to  get  that  bracelet  before  the 
jury;  your  mouthing  and  your  cheap  arts  with  the 
jury;  and  most  of  all  your  coming  to  Auburn  to  feast 
your  eyes  on  my  humiliation.  Oh,  if  I  could  forgive 
all  the  rest  I  could  never  forgive  you  that !" 


MANSLAUGHTER  289 

"I'm  not  particularly  eager  that  you  should  forgive 
me,"  he  said. 

To  her  horror  she  found  that  the  breaking  down  of 
the  barriers  which  had  kept  her  all  these  months  from 
rehearsing  her  grievances  to  anyone  was  breaking 
down  her  self-control.  She  knew  she  was  going  to 
cry. 

"You  can  go  now,"  she  said.  She  made  a  sweep 
ing  gesture  toward  the  door.  Already  the  muscles  in 
her  throat  were  beginning  to  contract.  He  stood  look 
ing  into  the  fire  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her.  She 
stamped  her  foot.  "Don't  you  understand  me?"  she 
said.  "I  want  you  to  go." 

"I'm  going,  but  there's  something  I  want  to  say  to 
you."  He  was  evidently  trying  to  think  something 
out  in  words. 

"I  shall  never  have  anything  more  to  say  to  you," 
she  replied. 

She  sank  down  on  the  sofa  and  leaned  her  head 
back  among  the  cushions.  She  closed  her  eyes 
to  keep  back  her  tears,  and  sat  rigid  with  the  struggle. 
If  she  did  not  speak  again  —  and  she  wouldn't  —  she 
might  get  rid  of  him  before  the  storm  broke.  He 
took  a  cigarette  and  lit  it.  Even  New  York  was  silent 
for  a  minute,  and  the  little  clock  on  the  table  suc 
ceeded  in  making  audible  its  faint,  quick  ticking. 
Lydia  became  aware  that  tears  were  slowly  forcing 
their  way  under  her  lids,  that  she  was  swallowing 
audibly.  She  put  her  hands  against  her  mouth  in  the 


290  MANSLAUGHTEK 

effort  to  keep  back  a  sob.  And  O'Bannon  began  to 
speak,  without  looking  at  her. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  can  make  you  under 
stand,"  he  said.  "I  don't  know  that  it  matters 
whether  you  understand  or  not,  but  in  your  whole 
case  I  did  exactly  what  a  district  attorney  ought  to 
do,  only  it  is  true  that  behind  my  doing  it " 

He  was  stopped  by  a  sob. 

"Yes,  yes!"  she  said  fiercely,  her  whole  face  dis 
torted  with  emotion,  "it's  true  I'm  crying,  but  if  you 
come  near  me  I'll  kill  you." 

"I  won't,"  he  answered.    "Cry  in  peace." 

She  took  him  at  his  word.  She  cried,  not  peace 
fully  but  wildly.  She  flung  herself  face  downward  on 
the  sofa  and  sobbed,  with  her  head  buried  in  the 
cushions,  while  her  whole  body  shook.  She  had  not 
cried  like  this  since  she  was  a  little  child.  It  was  a 
wild  luxurious  abandonment  of  all  self-control.  Once 
she  heard  O'Bannon  move. 

"Don't  touch  me!"  she  repeated  without  raising 
her  head. 

"I'm  not  going  to,"  he  answered. 

He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  —  up  and 
down  the  room  she  could  hear  him  going.  Once  he 
went  to  the  mantelpiece,  and  leaning  his  elbows  on 
the  shelf  he  put  his  hands  over  his  ears.  And  then 
without  warning  he  came  and  sat  down  beside 
her  on  the  sofa  and  gathered  her  into  his  arms  like  a 
child. 


I 

1 

03 

1 


MANSLAUGHTER  291 

"]STo,  no!"  she  said  with,  what  little  was  left  of  her 
voice. 

"Oh,  what  difference  does  it  make  ?"  he  answered. 

She  made  no  reply.  She  seemed  hardly  aware  that 
he  had  drawn  her  head  and  shoulders  across  his  up 
right  body  so  that  her  face  was  hidden  in  the  crook 
of  his  arm.  He  put  his  hand  on  her  heaving  shoulder, 
looking  down  at  the  disordered  knot  of  her  hlack  hair. 
A  few  minutes  hefore  he  would  have  said  that  he 
could  not  have  touched  her  hand  without  setting  fire 
to  his  strong  desire  for  her.  And  here  she  was,  softly 
in  his  arms,  and  his  only  emotion  was  a  tenderness 
so  comprehensive  that  all  desires  beyond  that  moment 
were  swallowed  up  in  it. 

He  almost  smiled  to  remember  the  futility  of  the 
explanation  he  had  been  attempting.  This  was  the 
real  explanation  between  them.  How  little  differ 
ence  words  made,  he  thought,  and  yet  how  we  all 
cling  to  them!  He  took  his  free  hand  from  her 
shoulder,  and  like  a  careful  nurse  he  slid  back  a  hair 
pin,  just  poised  to  fall  from  the  crisp  mass  of  her  hair. 

Gradually  her  sobs  stopped,  she  gave  a  long  deep 
breath,  and  presently  he  saw  she  had  fallen  asleep. 

There  never  was  an  hour  in  O'Bannon's  life  that 
he  set  beside  that  hour.  He  sat  like  a  man  in  a 
trance,  and  yet  acutely  aware  of  everything  about 
him ;  of  the  logs  in  the  fire  that,  burning  through,  fell 
apart  like  a  blazing  drawbridge  across  the  andirons; 
of  an  occasional  footstep  in  the  street;  and  finally 


292  MANSLAUGHTER 

of  the  inevitable  approach  of  the  rattling  milk  wagon, 
of  its  stopping  at  the  door,  of  the  wire  trays,  of  the 
raising  of  the  Thorne  basement  window  and  the  slow 
thump  of  the  delivery  of  the  allotted  number  of 
bottles. 

After  a  long  time  a  little  frightened  face  stared  at 
him  round  the  door.  Turning  his  head  slowly,  he  saw 
Miss  Bennett,  her  gray  hair  brushed  straight  back 
from  her  face  and  her  eyes  large  and  staring. 

"Is  she  dead  ?"  she  whispered. 

O'Bannon  shook  his  head,  and  hardly  making  a 
sound,  his  lips  formed  the  words,  "Go  away." 

Miss  Bennett  really  couldn't  do  that. 

"It's  almost  five  o'clock,"  she  said  reproachfully. 

He  nodded. 

"Go  away,"  he  said. 

In  her  bright  satin  dressing  gown  she  sat  down, 
but  he  could  see  that  she  was  nervous  and  uncertain. 
He  summoned  all  the  powers  of  will  that  he  pos 
sessed;  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  her,  compelling  her  to 
look  at  him;  and  when  he  felt  he  had  gathered  her 
in  he  raised  his  right  hand  and  gently  but  decisively 
pointed  to  the  door.  She  got  up  and  went  out. 

The  fire  had  burned  itself  completely  out  now,  and 
the  cold  of  the  hours  before  dawn  began  to  penetrate 
the  room.  O'Bannon  began  to  apprehend  the  fact 
that  this  night  must  some  time  end  —  that  Lydia 
must  presently  wake  up.  He  dreaded  the  moment 
there  would  be  more  anger,  more  repudiation  of  the 


MANSLAUGHTER  293 

obvious  bond  between  them,  more  torture  and  separa 
tion.  He  shivered,  and  leaning  forward  he  softly 
drew  her  cloak  from  a  neighboring  chair  and  laid  it 
over  her,  tucking  it  in  about  her  shoulders.  He  was 
afraid  the  movement  might  have  waked  her,  but  she 
eeemed  to  sleep  on. 

Again  the  minutes  began  to  slip  enchantedly  away, 
and  then  far  away  in  the  house,  in  some  remote  upper 
story,  he  heard  a  footstep.  Housemaids.  Inwardly 
he  called  down  the  curse  of  heaven  upon  them.  He 
glanced  down  at  Lydia,  and  suddenly  knew  —  how 
he  knew  it  he  could  not  say  —  that  she  had  heard  it 
too;  that  she  had  been  awake  a  long  time,  since  he 
put  the  cloak  over  her  —  perhaps  since  Miss  Bennett 
had  left  the  room. 

Awake  and  content!  His  heart  began  to  beat 
loudly,  violently. 

"Lydia,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  move  or  answer,  only  he  felt  that  her 
head  pressed  more  closely  into  the  hollow  of  his  arm. 

THE  END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN     INITIAL    FINE    OF    25    CENT* 


JUN15    1! 


AU6  9    1940 


4 
1    1935 


20Apr'55Bfl 
APRIL 


-1 


SF.P  10  1935 


LD  21-50m-l,'33 


33432 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


